


By Hook or Crook

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nevactacus, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 09:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Caractacus Potts doesn't belong in Nevada's world, but he's fallen on desperate times and has nowhere else to go. He's willing to do anything to provide for his kids, to keep them safe, even if that means making a deal with the devil - Nevada Ramirez, himself.





	By Hook or Crook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clowchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowchan/gifts).



Caractacus stopped, startled by the sudden sound of voices. He glanced around, his heart suddenly racing. It was nearly two in the morning, and his quiet, lonely walk was no longer quite so quiet or lonely. He spotted the shadowy shapes of two—no, three men exiting the abandoned building on the corner and, without thinking, he darted into the narrow alley between the two apartment complexes.

The men were moving quickly, and Caractacus flattened himself against the wall of the apartment building when he heard their boots approaching. They passed by without pausing—one of them glanced into the alley, but Caractacus was hidden in the shadows, the bright colors of his clothes muted by the pre-dawn darkness.

Caractacus saw them clearly enough to recognize them; the same streetlamps that cast him into protective shadows laid their features bare as they strode past. They were Nevada Ramirez’s men, and he knew he’d made the right decision in hiding. While he’d never met Nevada in person—despite the fact that he was now Caractacus’s landlord—he knew the man’s reputation.

Nevada was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t make the other men any less dangerous. Caractacus waited until their voices had faded into the night and the echoes of their heels were little more than a memory before he crept to the edge of the building and looked up and down the street.

There was no one; not a car, not a person, not even a stray cat. He moved out of the relative safety of the alley and started toward his apartment, but a noise stopped him in his tracks. He looked back over his shoulder, his heart once more kicking into a stampede. At first, he saw no movement.

Then: a flicker of light, there and gone, drawing his eyes toward the abandoned building the men had just left. Half of the windows were busted out, and half of _those_ were covered over with graffiti-tagged boards. In one of the lower level windows, he saw another flash of light, and he started toward the building automatically, propelled by his curiosity. He moved cautiously at first, until he finally realized what he was seeing.

Fire. The downstairs of the building was burning, and it wouldn’t take long for the fire to spread. Caractacus’s steps faltered for a moment. He knew he should go back to his apartment and call 911. He didn’t have his cell phone. As was so often the case, he’d let the battery die. His late wife had found his absentmindedness both endearing and frustrating, but he knew that he had to do better. He was a single father, now. He couldn’t be wandering the city streets in the middle of the night without a cell phone, it was dangerous and irresponsible. His twins were asleep in their beds, but what if they woke and found him gone?

He shook his head to bring himself back to the present. His cell phone was plugged in on the counter, and worrying about it wouldn’t change the present. He had to focus on the situation at hand.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d already crossed to the building. Now, he could hear the crackle of the fire, and he could see the smoke escaping the broken windows. It wouldn’t take long for the whole building to go up. It should be abandoned, but Caractacus knew he had to check. There was no one else around, and he couldn’t start yelling for help. There was a chance that Nevada’s men would hear him and come running back, and Caractacus didn’t believe that the fire was a coincidence.

Against all instincts for self-preservation, Caractacus found himself entering the building. The smoke was thick enough to burn his eyes and nose, but not bad enough to really choke him yet. He didn’t have a flashlight, but the flickering flames were enough to show him that his fears had been justified.

There was a man laid out on the floor. Caractacus couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, but the flames would reach him in a matter of minutes. “Hello?” Caractacus called, moving carefully toward the prone figure. In the flickering firelight, he could make out nothing but the dark shape—black boots, black jeans, black leather jacket, black hair—until he drew closer. Then he saw that the man was lying facedown, with his hands duct-taped behind his back.

The man’s greasy hair was flopped onto his face, but Caractacus could see that his eyes were closed. Bending down, Caractacus put two fingers to the side of the man’s throat and was relieved to find a pulse. There was no time to waste; the smoke had begun to burn in Caractacus’s lungs, and the crackle of the fire had grown into a roar.

He pulled out his pocketknife and quickly cut through the duct tape binding the man’s wrists before rolling him onto his back. The black stubble across the man’s jaw matched the greasy hair on his head. There was a bloody gash on his forehead.

It was Nevada Ramirez himself, a man Caractacus had only seen from a distance.

Caractacus straightened and took a step back, swallowing the smoke-thickened saliva that was coating the back of his throat. Nevada was the most feared man in the neighborhood, maybe in the _borough_. If his men had left him here to die—No, it was more than that. This wasn’t simply abandonment, this was outright murder.

Attempted murder, anyway. Nevada wasn’t dead yet.

Caractacus took another step back, glancing toward the approaching flames. The heat was already growing intolerable; his face was sheened in perspiration, sweat was running down his back. He had to get out, he had to think about his children. He couldn’t worry about a man who would likely murder him for making eye contact on the street, a man whose own men had tried to kill him.

Caractacus started to turn away and stopped, looking back at Nevada’s face. He didn’t look like a murderer, not while he was unconscious. Caractacus supposed that nobody looked like a psychopath when they were asleep.

Nevada might wake up when the flames consumed him. The pain would likely pull him back to consciousness, and he would die a terrible death, screaming in agony, if he couldn’t escape. Caractacus wasn’t sure the man didn’t deserve it. Nevada had, according to neighborhood talk, thrown a boy off a bridge and in front of a train, as retribution for the death of Nevada’s nephew.

Caractacus didn’t want a man like that anywhere near his own children, and yet he and the twins were currently living in an apartment that Nevada owned. Perhaps it would be better for everyone—

_To let an unconscious man burn to death? A man you’ve never met, someone you’re judging solely on rumors?_

Caractacus couldn’t do it. Nevada might deserve to die, and Caractacus might come to regret the decision to save him, but he could not walk away and leave a man to burn. He would never be able to live with himself.

He returned to Nevada’s side and grabbed his shoulder, giving him a rough shake. “Hey,” he said. Nevada was limp, unresponsive; his head lolled as Caractacus shook him. Caractacus swore under his breath. The smoke was really thick, now, making it difficult to breathe and see. Caractacus turned his face into his arm and coughed. He could feel the panic swelling up as he glanced back toward the exit and saw that the flames had nearly cut off his escape. If he didn’t hurry, his decision to save Nevada might end up costing him his own life.

 _No_ , he thought, _my children will not lose both of their parents_. Coughing again, he bent down and slid his arms beneath Nevada’s legs and upper back. It would be easier to drag him, but it would be quicker to carry him.

For a few seconds, he didn’t think he’d be able to do it. His knees threatened to buckle beneath the added weight, and his back cried in protest, but Caractacus had a dose of adrenaline to help him straighten. He managed to hoist Nevada into his arms, and he turned toward the door, sending up several quick prayers: that they would make it out before the flames closed off the path, that Nevada’s men would not be waiting outside, that the whole building wouldn’t collapse on top of them.

Caractacus ducked his head, squinting his eyes against the cloud of hot smoke as he hurried toward the door. His lungs were burning, screaming at him to cough. Caractacus watched the path before him narrowing as the fire ate away at the room, and his fear gave him speed and strength. In a matter of moments, he burst out into the night with Nevada in his arms.

Caractacus stumbled and went down on one knee on the weedy patch of grass outside the door, and his pained curse turned into a fit of coughing as he fell forward, dropping Nevada to the ground. Caractacus choked on the smoky phlegm, turning his head to the side as he coughed. His eyes were watering, blurring the night, but he could see the flames of the fire licking out of the windows, reaching toward the sky. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed.

As though his thought had conjured it, the sound of distant sirens found his ears beneath the crack and roar of the growing fire. Caractacus swiped at his teary eyes with a sleeve and looked up and down the street. There was still no one in sight, and he wondered who might be watching from an apartment window. He did not want to be seen with Nevada.

Caractacus looked down and saw a glint of light in the other man’s open eyes, and his stomach clenched. Nevada didn’t seem to actually be _seeing_ him, though—he blinked and his eyes rolled toward the fire. He made a sound in his throat and muttered something unintelligible. Caractacus couldn’t even tell if it was English, Spanish, or jibberish.

The sirens were getting closer.

 _No one can know I was here_ , Caractacus thought with a fresh surge of panic. Fighting his urge to cough again, he pushed to his feet. He swayed for a moment, lightheaded. He looked down at Nevada and their eyes met. Caractacus took a step backward.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. His voice was thick, rough. It occurred to him too late that he shouldn’t have spoken. If Nevada didn’t recognize his face, he might recognize the accent. But it was too late to worry about that. Caractacus looked up the road. The sirens were close, and he knew the trucks would appear around the corner in a minute. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated before turning away from the man on the ground. Caractacus broke into a jog in spite of his body’s protests.

When he reached the corner of his apartment building, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. The first fire truck was pulling up in front of the burning building. Their response time was impressive, and Caractacus couldn’t help wondering if they’d been called before he’d even gone inside.

The front lawn was empty. Caractacus squinted, scanning the block. There was no sign of Nevada anywhere. Caractacus ducked into his building, trying not to let his panic overwhelm him. He had no idea if he’d made the right choice, but there was no way to unmake it, now.

 

*       *       *

 

“You must be Mr. Ramirez.” Caractacus smoothed a hand down the front of his vest and adjusted the hat on his head. He cleared his throat, saying a silent prayer of thanks that the kids were at school.

Nevada looked at the man on his left and laughed. “Mr. Ramirez,” he said with a half-shrug. The other man smiled, but Nevada’s eyes held no humor when they returned to Caractacus’s face. “So polite,” he said. “And yet you haven’t invited me in.” He spread his hands and flashed his teeth in a grin. “I gotta say I’m not feeling very welcome.”

 _He doesn’t recognize me_ , Caractacus thought. It was a strange mixture of relief and unease that was churning in his stomach. If Nevada realized that Caractacus had saved his life, maybe he’d be inclined to show a little mercy. On the other hand, Caractacus recognized one of the guys with him as one of the men who’d left Nevada to perish a week earlier. Caractacus couldn’t let on that he knew…anything about anything. He had to protect his kids, no matter what.

“Of course, please come in,” Caractacus said, pasting a smile onto his face. The invitation was just a formality. Nevada Ramirez owned the building—he owned the whole block, in fact, and Caractacus was late with the rent.

Not just a little bit late, either. Nevada Ramirez didn’t show up at the door for a _little bit_ late. No, he had guys for that, and Caractacus had already had several of those meetings. He’d managed to stall them with small payments, saving himself from broken fingers—or worse—but it seemed his grace period had come to an end.

Nevada sauntered into the apartment, looking around, and his three men followed him. “So, you’re Crackpot,” Nevada said, eyeing the automatic contraption that was currently watering the plants on the windowsill. “I’ve heard about your…eccentricities.”

“Caractacus Potts,” Caractacus said. Nevada looked at him, head tilted a bit to the side, and Caractacus fought back his urge to fidget. “Sir,” he added, and he saw the hint of a smirk pulling at Nevada’s lips. “Listen, I know I’m late—”

“How long have you lived here?” Nevada asked, fingering the leaves of an aloe plant.

“Four months,” Caractacus said.

“We’ve never met.”

“No—you took over a month after—”

“I know how long I’ve owned the building,” Nevada cut in, spearing Caractacus with a dark look. Then he smiled again, looking at one of his men. He hooked a thumb toward Caractacus, shook his head at the guard, and said, “This guy, right? I guess they do things different in England, maybe, I mean I don’t know.” He turned his dangerous gaze back to Caractacus. “How many months’ rent have you paid?”

Caractacus licked nervously at his lips. “Two,” he said. “Listen, I’m expecting—”

“That’s the second time you’ve told me to listen, but you’re not saying anything I wanna hear,” Nevada said. “You’ve been giving my men nickels and dimes. So now I’ve had to take time out of my busy day to come—” He glanced around, making a face at the array of extravagant inventions, “—here. So, _you_ listen, because I’m only going to ask this once. Do you have money for me?”

“I—um—I have some, Mr. Ramirez, but I have a buyer coming to pick up one of my—” He broke off abruptly when Nevada strode toward him. “Please, I know that my problems are not your problems, but I have children—”

“I don’t give a shit about your kids or your problems. I care about people paying their debts.” Nevada stopped in front of him and looked him up and down, his appraisal slow and deliberate. “One way or another,” he added.

Caractacus’s stomach clenched, but he kept himself composed with effort. He reminded himself that he’d made a promise—to his wife, and to himself—that he would do anything, whatever it took, to protect and provide for his children. When he and his wife had made the decision to move their family across the ocean, he hadn’t expected to be a single father struggling to keep a roof over his kids’ heads. They’d already been evicted from three apartments in less than a year and a half. He was failing as a father.

“Please, if you could just give me…a little more time,” Caractacus said. Nevada Ramirez was not a man known for patience or mercy.

Nevada hooked his thumbs into his belt and tipped his head, regarding Caractacus. “What are you willing to do for this…extension?”

Caractacus moistened his lips again and swallowed. “Anything,” he said, the word barely audible. He knew it was the most dangerous answer he could give. Nevada wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of Caractacus’s desperation, but there was no choice.

Nevada raked his gaze down the length of Caractacus’s body again. “Take off the hat,” he said in a low voice, and Caractacus obeyed, tossing the hat onto the table. “Get on your knees.”

Caractacus’s heart was slamming in his chest. _Tell him_ , he thought. _Tell him you saved his life and maybe he’ll_ —

 _If he doesn’t kill me, his men will_. Swallowing against the burn of bile in his throat, Caractacus slowly sank to his knees. Nevada unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his jeans. Caractacus cast a quick look at the other three men in the room, wondering if there was any chance of help from them. At least one of them had tried to kill Nevada.

 _And you saved him. And look at you now_ , Caractacus thought.

Nevada hesitated with his fingers at his fly and looked at his men. “Wait outside,” he said.

They glanced around at each other, but they turned toward the door without objection and slipped into the hallway, closing the door. Near-silence descended on the apartment, the quiet broken only by the ticks of clocks and the soft whirs and whooshes of Caractacus’s inventions.

“You really gonna suck my dick?” Nevada asked, and there was something—something like disbelief, even confusion—in his voice that made Caractacus roll his eyes upward to look at the other man’s face. He couldn’t answer, though. What could he say? He was willing to do whatever was necessary, but that didn’t lessen the humiliation. “Get up,” Nevada growled.

Caractacus blinked in surprise. He hesitated for a moment before carefully rising to his feet. He and Nevada stood looking at each other.

“You think I don’t know who you are?” Nevada asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Caractacus said.

Nevada stepped closer, leaning his head forward. Caractacus could smell his cologne; he could feel the heat of Nevada’s breath when he spoke in a low voice: “Which ones?”

“I don’t—”

“My men might call you Crackpot but this isn’t the apartment of a stupid man.” He glanced over Caractacus’s ratty and patched plaid suit and wrinkled his nose. “In spite of the clothes,” he added. He met Caractacus’s eyes. “So don’t be stupid. Maybe you regret the choice to save my life but now you have another choice to make. Who do you think is more of a threat to you? Them? Or me?”

“Mr. Ramirez,” Caractacus said. He knew the other man could hear the desperation in his voice, but there was no point trying to hide it. He _was_ desperate. “Please. Please. I have to protect my kids.”

“Some of my men tried to kill me, _Señor_ Potts,” Nevada said. “I think you saw them. Tell me who they were and I give you my word, no one will touch you or your kids. _They_ will not offer you the same deal if they find out you pulled me out of that fire.”

Caractacus glanced at the door. “Maybe not,” he allowed, “but if you end up with a bullet in your head—”

“I wouldn’t recommend betting against me.”

 _You’d be dead if not for me_ , Caractacus thought, but he choked the words back. Nevada’s smile told him he heard the unspoken thought, anyway. _I need to get my kids out of here_. But there was nowhere to go. They couldn’t live in the car, no matter how much the kids might like it at first.

Nevada pulled out his phone and flipped through his photos for a moment before holding the cell toward Caractacus. On the screen was a picture of four men. The photo had clearly been taken without their knowledge; they were on the other side of the street, heads bent together and hands in various stages of gesticulation as they were captured in the middle of some heated discussion.

Caractacus had seen all of the men before, around the neighborhood. Two of them had been at his door asking for money in the last month. He met Nevada’s eyes, weighing his options. There were no good choices.

“They’ll kill me.”

“ _I’ll_ kill you, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada answered. He spoke with absolute sincerity, and Caractacus felt a slither of cold fear. He studied the other man for a few seconds, and suddenly there was something different in Nevada’s eyes—it was there and gone so quickly that Caractacus didn’t have time to identify it.

A single thought rose into his mind, though: _I don’t think so_. Nevada was a good actor. He’d come strolling into Caractacus’s apartment without an ounce of recognition in his expression, he’d gotten Caractacus onto his knees and the guards out of the room without a crack in his performance. And Caractacus had no real reason to believe Nevada _wouldn’t_ kill him. He’d heard rumors of all the terrible things the man had done.

Still, Caractacus had to make a decision. Trust Nevada, or put his fate in the hands of the men who’d tried to stab Nevada in the back. Those men would not be happy to learn who’d pulled their boss out of the fire, but Nevada must have _some_ sense of gratitude for the man who’d saved his life.

Caractacus lifted a hand and pointed at the screen. Nevada looked down at the picture. “These two,” Caractacus said. His stomach burned. He knew he was sentencing the men to death; not pointing them out might be a death sentence for Nevada. Caractacus couldn’t allow himself to get swept up in their feuds. He couldn’t think of it as choosing who would die. He had to think about protecting his family. He swallowed and glanced toward the door. He pitched his voice lower, even though there was no way he could be overheard from outside the apartment. “And the short one, with the long hair,” he said, referring to one of the men waiting in the hallway. “Those were the only three I saw.”

Nevada turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He regarded Caractacus in silence for several seconds, studying his face, reading him. Caractacus stood still, enduring the discomfort, waiting for Nevada’s reaction and hoping that he would keep his word.

“Did you know who I was?”

He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Caractacus cleared his throat. “Not at first. Not when I went in. But when I found you, yes. I knew.”

“Anyone else would’ve left me there.” Nevada smiled, and for a moment it seemed genuine. “Fuck, even I would’ve,” he said.

“Well. I can’t say I didn’t consider it,” Caractacus admitted, and Nevada’s eyebrows rose a bit in surprise. “Maybe if you were, you know.” He gestured vaguely toward Nevada’s face. “Glaring at me like you wanted to throw me off a bridge.” He didn’t miss the wince that Nevada tried to hide, even though it was there and gone in a flash. “But you were unconscious, and everyone looks sweet and innocent when they’re asleep, don’t they?”

Nevada uttered a surprised laugh. “Sweet and innocent?” he repeated. He put a hand to his own chest and raised his eyebrows even higher. “I’ve killed men for less insulting things,” he said, but he was amused.

Caractacus was surprised—and he thought Nevada was just as surprised—by the genuine emotion, and even though he knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down a millimeter, he felt some of the knots in his stomach begin to loosen. Nevada was, by all accounts, a terrible human. But, he _was_ human.

“I’ve been known to be overly sentimental,” Caractacus said, and Nevada grinned in response. “So…this is where we are. What do you want me to do?”

“Speak to no one,” Nevada said. “You know nothing.”

Caractacus managed a small smile. “No, you know me. Crazy old Crackpot, building inventions that no one wants.”

“Hmm,” Nevada answered. He seemed tired of the conversation. He looked at the door. “You think you could’ve sucked me off by now?” he asked.

Caractacus blinked. “I—have no idea.”

“ _Qué,_ you don’t know how to suck a dick?”

“I don’t know your stamina,” Caractacus answered before his brain had caught up to his mouth.

“Hmm,” Nevada repeated, but there was no boredom in the sound, this time. He regarded Caractacus through narrowed eyes for a moment. “Maybe we revisit this another time, _sí_?. For now, I have other things to see to.”

“Wait, here,” Caractacus said as Nevada turned toward the door. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled wad of bills. “It’s only fifty dollars, it’s all I have, but I’ll get your—”

“Keep it,” Nevada said, glaring at the money for a few seconds.

“Please, Mr. Ramirez, I pay my debts.”

“Keep your money. If anyone asks, you’re a very good _mamón_.”

Based on the smirk on Nevada’s face, Caractacus knew he shouldn’t ask. “What does that mean?” he asked anyway.

Nevada grinned. He pulled his sunglasses from his jacket and slipped them on. “Some other time, _Chiflado_ ,” he said, and Caractacus watched him stride to the door, pull it open, and disappear into the hallway. Once the door had clicked shut, Caractacus sank into a kitchen chair. His hands were shaking, his stomach churning. Part of him expected the door to burst inward, but it didn’t.

When the alarm sounded, reminding him it was time to fetch the children from school, he nearly jumped out of his plaid suit. He was going to have to get himself under control. Jeremy and Jemima could not know that anything was wrong.

 

*       *       *

 

 _You should’ve put a bullet in my head_ , Nevada thought, watching his men from beneath his lashes. It had been two weeks since the night of the fire. No one knew how he’d gotten out—no one except Nevada and a certain crackpot inventor, anyway—and Nevada had pretended not to notice the surprise and alarm in his men’s eyes when they’d seen him the next morning.

He hadn’t seen the person who hit him from behind, and he’d been unconscious when they’d taped his wrists and left him on the floor to burn. Even without Caractacus’s identification, however, Nevada would’ve known who was responsible. Now, for two weeks he’d been watching them, toying with them, hoping they’d have the guts to try to kill him to his face. They weren’t alive because of any sense of mercy or sentimentality on Nevada’s part. He intended to make them suffer, but first he had to be absolutely certain that he had the right traitors.

“Rent is due,” Carlos said, pulling Nevada out of his thoughts.

“No shit,” Nevada answered. He leaned back in his chair. “You think I don’t know when people owe me money?”

Carlos didn’t flinch under the weight of Nevada’s glare. They’d known each other for twenty years. “I’m just sayin’ 3B still ain’t paid and now another month’s up.”

3B. Caractacus Potts. Crackpot.

“You want I should go visit?” Carlos asked. Nevada regarded him in silence, and Carlos finally showed some signs of unease. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you seemed to work somethin’ out, so I wasn’t sure—”

“Work something out?” Nevada cut in, and Carlos shifted again beneath the hard stare leveled at him. “Oh!” Nevada raised his chin. “You mean the—” He gestured toward his own crotch and grinned. “Lemme ask you, you think he sucks with a accent?”

Carlos chuckled. “I don’t know, Boss, you tell me.”

“I don’t know, man, maybe they teach you how to suck a dick in school over there.”

Carlos laughed again, and Nevada could see the tension easing from the other man’s shoulders. “That good, huh?” Carlos asked. “Maybe I should go see for myself.”

Nevada smiled. “He might _morder tu polla_ , but maybe it’ll be worth it.” He sighed and got to his feet, straightening his jacket. “Next time, _mi amigo_ ,” he said. “You’re right, I should pay another visit.” He winked, earning a laugh from Carlos.

“Maybe we both—”

“Not today,” Nevada said. He was still smiling, but the glint in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, left no room for argument.

“Sure, Boss,” Carlos agreed. “He’s all yours.”

“How generous,” Nevada answered, letting the sarcasm drip from his tongue. He smiled again. “You can have him next month,” he allowed as reconciliation. As he turned his back on Carlos, Nevada thought, _you’ll be at the bottom of the river by then, my friend._

 

*       *       *

 

“We’re not sup _posed_ to let anyone in,” the boy said as Nevada strode past him into the apartment.

“You really shouldn’t’ve opened the door, _hijo_ ,” Nevada answered, turning in the middle of small apartment to face the children. He cocked a hip and crossed his arms over his chest, looking them over. Two of Nevada’s men were standing inside the doorway, their hands clasped in front of themselves, waiting for instruction. “Where’s your father?” Nevada asked the boy.

“Are you a friend of Daddy’s?” the girl asked in return.

Their expressions held curiosity but no real fear. Nevada couldn’t believe that they’d lived in this neighborhood for four months—they seemed too innocent, too _soft_. A few hours on the street outside their apartment and they would be swallowed up. The neighborhood kids would eat them alive. How had their father managed to protect them for so long? Not just physically, but emotionally? How did they survive _school_?

“I’m the landlord,” Nevada said, spreading his hands in the air. “I’ve come to collect the rent.” He was testing them. He wanted to see the looks on their faces and gauge what they knew about their father’s debts, or if they’d heard horror stories of their evil landlord.

The children exchanged a look, and there was a hint of worry on their matching brows, now. Not fear, not yet, but definitely concern. “He went to sell his self-cleaning cooking pot,” the girl said.

Nevada blinked. “What the fuck is a self-cleaning cooking pot?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “I should think it’s obvious,” she answered, and Nevada was surprised into a small laugh. The girl looked at her brother. “Go get the box, Jeremy,” she said quietly.

Jeremy nodded and headed toward the bedroom that the children shared.

Nevada eyed the girl for a moment. Perhaps she wasn’t so innocent as she seemed, after all. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Jemima,” she said. “What’s yours?”

He smiled, but she seemed unaware of any danger in the gesture. “Nevada,” he answered. “Has your _papi_ mentioned me?”

“Daddy doesn’t talk to us about his business associates,” she said, raising her chin.

Nevada looked at his men in the doorway. “ _Business associates_ ,” he repeated, and they laughed quietly. “Well, now, _Dama,_ you can give your father a message for me, yes? Tell him—” He broke off when Jeremy appeared with a wooden jewelry box in his hands. They boy held it out and Jemima lifted the lid.

Nevada wasn’t sure what to expect. They could have a gun in there, although he doubted either of them had ever held a weapon in their young lives. He’d first had his hands wrapped around the cold steel of a gun when he was five years old, but these children were nothing like him and his late sister.

Jemima pulled out several coins. She looked down at them in her palm, and Nevada could see the emotions playing across her young face. Finally, she squared her shoulders, cast her brother another quick look, and held out her hand. Nevada stared at her.

“Go on, take them,” she said, scowling at him. “They’re all we have.”

Nevada glanced at the coins. He knew nothing of British money. The coins could be worth a nickel, or a thousand dollars. He had no point of reference and it didn’t matter, anyway.

“They came from our grandfather,” the girl said, speaking slowly as though she thought Nevada needed help understanding. “They’re worth a _hundred quid_ ,” she added.

“What’m I supposed to do with old coins?” Nevada asked, wondering how much money translated to a quid. “Do I look like one of those goddamned places that buys old jewelry and shit?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Our father won’t let us sell them, but you could. To help with the rent.”

“Keep your—”

“Children, go in your room, now,” Caractacus said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. The two men stepped aside to let him pass, but based on his expression, Nevada had no doubt the inventor would’ve plowed through them to get inside.

“But Daddy,” Jeremy started.

“Now,” Caractacus repeated, and the children obediently headed toward their bedroom—Jeremy carrying the wooden box, Jemima with the coins clutched in her fist. As soon as they’d closed the door behind themselves, Caractacus stepped close to Nevada and hissed, “How _dare_ you come near my children. If you so much as—”

“Watch it, Crackpot,” one of the men said.

Nevada held up a hand to silence the guard and met Caractacus’s flashing glare. “Step back,” he said in a low voice. For a moment he didn’t think the man would obey, and Nevada considered his options. The polite, desperate man was gone, and in his place stood a fiercely protective father. Nevada could respect that, but he couldn’t allow himself to be disrespected in front of his men.

Caractacus clenched his hands into fists at his sides and stepped back, making a visible effort to calm himself. “I have most of the month’s rent,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice. “In another week I can—”

“You owe two months, now, Crackpot,” one of the men said from the doorway.

“Or maybe it’s only one, after all,” the other man said, grinning. “Hell, if you suck as good as I hear, I’ll pay your rent myself for—”

“My children are here,” Caractacus said. Nevada could see the color staining his cheeks, and he could hear the pain and embarrassment in his voice. He could hear the note of _pleading_ , even though he suspected Caractacus thought it was well-hidden.

“Give me what you have,” Nevada said, holding out a hand.

Caractacus fished out another crumpled mess of bills and dropped it into Nevada’s palm.

“Jesus, do you not own a wallet?” Nevada muttered, wrinkling his nose at the tangle of money.

“I’ll iron it out next time,” Caractacus shot back.

Nevada shoved the money into his front pocket and stepped forward until he and Caractacus were toe-to-toe. “Do you know where I live?” he asked in a low rumble.

Caractacus swallowed, and Nevada heard the soft click in his throat. “Yes,” he managed.

“Be there at ten o’clock tonight to work off your debt.”

“I…” Caractacus glanced toward the closed door of his children’s bedroom.

“This is not a negotiation,” Nevada said. He reached up and straightened the knot of Caractacus’s tie with a couple of jerks that made the inventor wince. “Don’t make me have to come back _here_ , _Señor_ Potts.” He was still holding Caractacus’s tie, and he felt the other man swallow again beneath his knuckles. Caractacus held his stare, though. The man was bold, and not merely in his choice of clothing.

“Of course, Mr. Ramirez,” he said after a few seconds.

Nevada patted his chest twice and took a step back, stretching his lips into a grin. “Tell the _niños_ I said goodbye, huh, _Señor_ Potts?” Without waiting for a response, Nevada turned on his boot heel and sauntered toward the door. The two men preceded him into the hallway. As Nevada pulled the door closed, he glanced back into the apartment.

Caractacus was standing in the middle of the floor, his head lowered so his chin was resting against his chest. His eyes were closed beneath the brim of his colorful hat, and his hands were curled into fists at his sides. At a quick look, he seemed like a man who was close to his breaking point. But Nevada suspected that Caractacus Potts had reserves of strength that even the inventor himself didn’t realize.

Nevada closed the door with a decisive click, but as he strode down the hallway with his men flanking him, a single image rose into his mind: the memory of Caractacus Potts’s face as he’d carried Nevada from the burning building. Nevada had been disoriented when he’d first opened his eyes. His lungs were burning, his head was throbbing, his stomach was full of acid. He’d felt sturdy arms beneath his back and legs, but his whole body had been weak, limp, and there was nothing he could do about being carried like a child.

He’d blinked the blurriness from his eyes, looking up at the face of the man carrying him. Behind Caractacus, Nevada could see the flickering light of the fire as it ate away at both the building and the night. Nevada could feel the painful lump on the back of his head, could vaguely remember the moment of impact before he’d lost consciousness. He could feel the pain of the gash on his forehead and assumed he had an injury from hitting the floor. He could feel the remnants of the duct tape on his wrists, and the stiffness in his shoulders, and it wasn’t difficult to piece together what had happened.

Since the death of his sister, two months after the death of her youngest son, Nevada had very few people that he could trust. He could trust his men to follow orders, and he could trust them to keep him safe when his eyes were on them. But when his back was turned? Some of them were itching for power, and no one in the neighborhood was more powerful than Nevada Ramirez.

He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that any of them had left him to die in that fire. But to actually knock him unconscious, immobilize him, and set the fire around him? That was a different level of hatred.

“Man’s mouthy, huh, Boss?”

“In more ways than one,” the other man answered, and they both chuckled.

Nevada laughed. “He won’t be talking so much tonight,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto his face.

 

*       *       *

 

Caractacus had made a decision, and he planned to follow through with it no matter how difficult it was. He couldn’t waste his time and energy worrying about what his wife would think; she would want him to take care of their kids, and things couldn’t continue on the way they’d been. He couldn’t sleep because of the worry that constantly gnawed at his gut. He couldn’t afford to put his kids in a private school, or get them a babysitter when he couldn’t be home, or to move them to a safer neighborhood. He could barely keep them fed, some weeks, and keeping a roof over their heads had been a constant struggle.

He’d been lucky enough to keep up on the supplies he needed for his inventions; some he scrounged from dumpsters in the middle of the night, some were donated by friendly neighbors when they had microwaves die or other appliances break beyond repair, and some could be cannibalized from other inventions that didn’t sell. He could feel his luck running out, though, and without the occasional sale of inventions to supplement his income between odd jobs, things were going to become even more desperate.

He couldn’t sell Chitty; the children would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. But it was soon going to be his only real asset, and he didn’t want to think about the choices he might be forced to face.

 _No matter how bad this is, it can get a lot worse_ , he thought as he knocked on Nevada’s door. _The twins are healthy. Their stomachs are full, and they’re sleeping in their beds._

A man opened the door. It was the short one with the long hair, the one that Caractacus had fingered as a would-be murderer. Caractacus kept his features composed with effort, but his stomach leaped into his throat. He’d assumed the man was dead, since he hadn’t seen him—or the other two—around in the past week.

“Crackpot,” the man said with a mean smile.

“Don’t be rude, Hector, let him in,” Nevada said, sounding amused. Caractacus couldn’t see Nevada—or anyone else, and he had no idea what he might be walking into when Hector stepped aside. Perhaps Nevada had decided to take the word of his men over that of Caractacus. Perhaps Caractacus was about to be seriously hurt, or killed. He stepped past Hector with fear roiling in his stomach, but some of it was eased when he saw that Nevada was the only other person inside.

Nevada was leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of something—whiskey? Rum or scotch? Caractacus wasn’t a drinking man—in his hand. He was wearing black pants and a black shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest to show a gold cross glinting in his dark curls of hair, but his leather coat was gone and his hair, this late at night, had lost some of its slickness and shine.

Nevada seemed relaxed, but Caractacus knew he couldn’t trust appearances. Nevada was a predator, always on the lookout for weakness. He’d shown mercy so far, but Caractacus could not depend upon that to last. And if Nevada had told Hector that he’d been accused, by Caractacus, of being one of the men who’d tried to kill him, then Hector and the other men were perhaps a bigger threat than Nevada.

“Nice hat,” Hector said.

“Thank you,” Caractacus returned, pointedly ignoring the man’s sarcasm. “I love the black motif you all have—makes it easy to color coordinate, I imagine.”

“You’re funny,” Hector said, taking a deliberate step into Caractacus’s personal space. “I guess you should be since you’s always dressed like a clown.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you,” Caractacus said. “You know—Hector, is it?—I don’t mean to be rude, but did you happen to spill your cologne this morning? It’s a bit much, you know. As a friendly word of advice, you might want to consider that less is sometimes more.”

Hector was going to hit him; Caractacus saw the impulse written as clear as day on the man’s face, and he did his best to mentally brace himself for the blow.

“Leave us,” Nevada said. His voice was mild, and a quick glance in his direction showed Caractacus that he still looked relaxed and even had a slight smile curving one corner of his mouth.

“I don’t trust Crackpot the Clown, here,” Hector said. Specks of spittle hit Caractacus’s face as the other man spoke. “You want me to pat him down?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Nevada asked, and Hector looked over at him, blinking in surprise at the sudden change of tone. “Get out.”

“Sure, Boss,” Hector said. He gave Caractacus one last glare before turning to the door.

 _Yeah_ , Caractacus thought. _You tried to kill your boss and you wouldn’t blink before killing me or my children._ For a moment, he found himself hoping that Nevada would kill Hector first. He gave his head a little shake to rid his mind of the dark thought.

“Lock the door,” Nevada said when Hector was gone.

Caractacus did as instructed, flipping the deadbolt and hooking the chain. He turned to face Nevada, removing his hat. He reached over and hung it on the coatrack behind the door. It was strange to think of Nevada Ramirez as a man with normal things like coatracks and— _a cat_?

Caractacus stared in surprise as the black animal came slinking out of one of the other rooms. The cat paused and looked at Caractacus, offering a slow blink. The resemblance to Nevada—the black hair, watchful green eyes, deliberate walk—was so uncanny that Caractacus almost laughed. Instead, he dropped into a crouch and held out a hand, smiling at the animal.

The cat meowed and sauntered toward him, running the length of its body against Caractacus’s fingers. “Hello, there,” Caractacus murmured. “What’s your name?”

“You know she doesn’t talk, _Chiflado_?” Nevada said, watching from across the room.

Caractacus looked up at him, flashing a smile. He knew it was ridiculous, but the presence of the cat—and the departure of Hector—had put him much more at ease. “Sure she does,” he said. “All animals talk if you know how to listen.”

“Hmm. What’s she saying, then?”

“She’s glad Hector’s gone,” Caractacus said.

Nevada laughed. “She’s a good judge of character,” he said. He paused, considering his words, before adding, “Except for me. But I’m the one who feeds her, so…” He shrugged.

“Cats don’t give blind loyalty the way dogs do,” Caractacus said, giving the cat one last scratch behind her ears before straightening.

“Her name is _Reina_ ,” Nevada said. He held his glass up for a moment. “Want a drink?”

Caractacus considered. Alcohol might give him the courage to do what he’d come to do, but it was more likely to rob him of all ability to reason. “No, thank you,” he said. “I think we have business to discuss, Mr. Ramirez.”

“Business?” Nevada laughed. He pushed off the counter and walked slowly toward Caractacus, sliding his green gaze down the length of the inventor’s body. “This is your business suit?”

“It has the fewest patches,” Caractacus said, and Nevada laughed again. Caractacus wondered how much he’d had to drink. “I’d like to…make you an offer,” he said when Nevada stopped a couple of steps in front of him. Caractacus ran his tongue over his lips and smoothed the front of his suit nervously. He could smell Nevada’s cologne, and the liquor, and the faded scent of cigarette smoke. The combination wasn’t as unappealing as it should be.

Nevada raised his glass to his lips, sipping his drink, regarding Caractacus over the rim. “Make me an offer?” he finally said.

“Yes. I realize I have very _little_ I can offer you, you’re likely not interested in any of my crazy machines—You hold all the cards, Mr. Ramirez, I get that. But I think…you might be capable of showing mercy, and that’s what I’m asking for. Give me a chance to work for my rent, so I can save enough money to move my children out of your neighborhood.”

“Work? You want to deliver drugs? Break kneecaps?”

“No. I don’t want anything to do with your…business enterprises. I want to work for you, personally.”

Nevada raised his eyebrows, his lips twisting into a humorless smile. “I don’t need a secretary,” he said.

“No,” Caractacus agreed. He chewed his lip for a few seconds. He hated the blush that was staining his cheeks, and he knew that Nevada could see it. “I can’t offer anything you need, but I can give you something you want,” he finally said, casting a pointed look at Nevada’s crotch before meeting his eyes.

“You want to suck my cock for your rent,” Nevada said. It wasn’t pitched as a question, but Caractacus could see the uncertainty in the other man’s eyes.

“I told you, I’m willing to do anything.”

“You flatter me,” Nevada said flatly, glaring at him. He tipped his head and offered a smile that stopped short of his eyes. “You want everyone to think you’re my whore, _Chiflado_?”

“With all due respect, you’ve—”

“Respect?”

“—already told your men. That’s why I’m here, right? So they know that you’re not giving me any special treatment? Well, I don’t care what people think. I care about taking care of my kids and getting them somewhere safe. So, yes, I’m asking you to let me…earn my way—”

“Suck my cock.”

Caractacus swallowed. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Say it. Tell me that’s what you want.”

“I want you to let me…” He cleared his throat. “To let me suck your cock. In exchange for whatever money I owe you.”

“You must think you’re very good.”

“I can audition, if you’d like.”

Nevada snorted, a surprised sound with a touch of real humor in it.

“But that’s not all I’m offering,” Caractacus added, shifting his feet. “If you want to, um…”

“Fuck you?”

“Right, that,” Caractacus said, his cheeks flaming.

“Have you ever been fucked before?”

“I’ve had relations with men,” Caractacus muttered. He released a breath and raised his chin, determined to go through with this no matter how humiliating it was.

“Relations.”

“You’re an attractive man, Mr. Ramirez. I don’t imagine you’ll be gentle, but…I can deal with that. I realize what I’m offering, and I also recognize the fact that you could probably take it without giving me anything in return. Like I said, I’m asking for just a bit of mercy, here.”

“Mercy.”

“Yes. No one will know. You can tell your men whatever you want.”

Nevada raised his glass and swallowed the rest of his drink, never taking his eyes from Caractacus’s face. Then, his voice rough from the burn of liquor, he said, “You don’t come in here saying I owe you for saving my life? Ask me for money?”

“What? No. One thing has nothing to do with the other. I didn’t save your life because I hoped to get something in return, I did it because I couldn’t leave a defenseless person to die. You owe me nothing for that.”

“You thought about getting a job?”

“A job?” Caractacus said, staring at him. “I’ve had a dozen jobs in two years. You think I’m not willing to work? I applied today at that store on the corner, but do you think anyone wants to hire me? I realize I stick out like a sore thumb but I do what I can. I’ve cleaned toilets, I’ve fried food—”

“Not at the same time, I hope.”

“I’m doing the best I can. But I am failing.” He looked away for a few moments, trying to compose himself. Nevada was not his friend, and Caractacus wasn’t stupid enough to think the other man wanted to hear his problems, or that he cared about them. “And to be honest, you might be my last hope.”

“Some of my own men want me dead, men I’ve known for half my life, _Señor_ Potts. What makes you _think_ I give a _shit_ —”

“I don’t need you to be a good person, I only need you to be true to your word.”

Nevada regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You’re a brave man, _Chiflado_ ,” he said in a low, silky voice.

“I’m not brave, I’m desperate. Do you have family?”

“Have you thought of trying to blend in?” Nevada asked, glancing at Caractacus’s suit.

“My children are watching me,” Caractacus answered quietly. “I cannot protect them from the evils of the world forever but I can show them that we don’t have to let the world break us, no matter how hard it might try. There’s always something to be grateful for, some reason to be happy.”

“Gratitude and happiness die quick around here,” Nevada said. “You should not have brought your family to this place.”

“The past can’t be changed and the future isn’t guaranteed. I cannot waste my time on regrets.”

“Regrets are weakness,” Nevada hissed.

Caractacus sighed. “Everybody has weaknesses. But you don’t regret anything you’ve done?”

“I regret letting you talk so much.”

Caractacus smiled. “You’re not the first. What about the night of the fire?”

“What about it?”

“Were you already there?”

“I got a text to meet someone.” As soon as the words left his tongue, Nevada pressed his lips together. He scowled down at his empty glass. _Reina_ was rubbing against his calf, purring.

“From who?”

“It doesn’t matter who,” Nevada snapped. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Alright. It’s just…Hector was here tonight, and I sort of thought you’d have, you know…by now…”

“How I deal with my men is none of your business.”

“But what do they think happened? How do they think you got out of there?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“It hasn’t come _up_?”

“That’s right. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m worried. It’s been weeks. What if they decide to quit playing games and just put a bullet in your head?”

“Then you’ll be off the hook.”

“I have a feeling someone will still come looking for rent,” Caractacus said. “Maybe someone worse than you.”

Nevada smiled. “You have a lot of delusions, _Chiflado_. And a big mouth.” He turned away, stepping over the cat, and sauntered toward the living room. He set his glass on the end table and sank onto the sofa, stretching his legs before him. “Let’s shut it up,” he said, unsnapping his jeans. He looked back at Caractacus, cocking an eyebrow.

Caractacus recognized this for what it was: a test. Even after everything Caractacus had said, Nevada expected him to balk, or even flee. Caractacus had no intention of doing either. He walked into the living room slowly, coming to a stop at Nevada’s feet. He glanced at Nevada’s crotch; his jeans were undone, but only far enough for Caractacus to see a few curls of black hair and realize he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Nevada wasn’t aroused, because he didn’t actually expect the other man to do anything. Caractacus supposed he should be grateful for that, but he knew it was too early for gratitude. He was going into this willingly and had to acknowledge the fact that Nevada might hurt him.

Nevada’s gaze slid down the length of Caractacus’s body, though, and Caractacus saw his throat work as he swallowed. Caractacus was flattered by the knowledge that Nevada found him attractive. Nevada was physically beautiful, with the sort of dark good looks that should be on the silver screen.

Nevada shifted his feet apart as Caractacus stepped between his ankles. “If you’re gonna do this, take off the stupid jacket. It hurts my eyes.”

Caractacus smiled and unbuttoned his blazer and vest, stripping them off and tossing them over the far end of the sofa. He rolled up his sleeves. He sank slowly into a crouch and then forward onto a knee, putting his palms on Nevada’s thighs. He felt the muscles tense beneath his hands, inside the tight denim. He met Nevada’s eyes, waiting for permission.

“Well?” Nevada said. “Ain’t gonna suck itself. Unless you got a machine for that, too.”

Caractacus chuckled. “Not a bad idea—that’s one invention I’d actually be able to sell,” he said, earning a quiet snort from the other man. Caractacus slid his hands up Nevada’s thighs to his pelvis. “But it wouldn’t be as good.”

“Such arrogance.”

Caractacus pulled at the flaps of Nevada’s fly, tugging them apart to expose more dark hair and the pale base of his shaft. “I know my strengths and weaknesses.” He felt an unexpected flush of desire when he looked up at Nevada’s face. “Any requests?”

“It’s your audition,” Nevada said. His voice was husky, his eyelids heavy, his eyes dark. He tilted his head a little. “But know, _Chiflado_ , you plan to bite? You better bite hard and fast ‘cause you won’t get another chance.”

Caractacus laughed, pulling the flaps wider. He slipped his fingers under Nevada’s cock and freed it from the confines of his jeans. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” he murmured, eyeing Nevada’s impressive size. He bent his head forward with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation fluttering in his stomach. He felt the tickle of Nevada’s pubic hair against his nose, smelled the musky scent of sweat. He ran the tip of his tongue along the length of Nevada’s cock, stopping short of the head. He sucked lightly at the side and could feel the other man hardening against his lips.

Nevada didn’t move. His hands were resting beside his legs. His eyes were glued to Caractacus, but his breaths were even, measured. His breathing didn’t change when Caractacus dragged his tongue up and over Nevada’s crown, when he traced the tip of his tongue along the slit, or when he used his tongue to massage at his frenulum.

By the time Caractacus closed his mouth around the head of Nevada’s erection, Nevada was fully hard but had given no other reaction. Caractacus slowly swallowed half of the other man’s length before pausing, giving himself a moment to adjust. It had been a long time since he’d had another man in his mouth, pressing at the back of his throat, and he had to remember how to overcome his body’s urge to reject the sensation.

He drew a breath through his nose and pushed forward, bracing his hands on Nevada’s thighs. He did his best to relax his throat, but it was still a struggle to take all of the other man. Caractacus knew it would get easier with practice. He felt Nevada’s zipper against his chin and paused again, concentrating in spite of the tears leaking from his eyes and his brain’s cry for oxygen. He tightened his throat around Nevada, swallowing, and Nevada’s breath finally hitched.

Caractacus felt a moment of triumph, but he didn’t allow himself to relish it. _We’ve only just begun_ , he thought, the Carpenters’ song flitting through his mind as he pulled back far enough to draw a breath. With his lips tight around Nevada’s shaft, he hummed a bit of the song, and Nevada shifted his hips at the vibration. Caractacus swallowed his length again, letting his throat stretch. When he drew back, he could already taste a hint of salty precum on his tongue, and he felt another surge of pride.

 _That didn’t take long_.

Caractacus bobbed his head a few times, working his tongue up and down the length of the biggest vein that jagged its way along the underside of Nevada’s cock. He’d been gentle so far, but he closed his lips around the flared head of Nevada’s erection and sucked—hard—as a test.

Nevada lifted a hand and grabbed the back of his head, tangling his fingers into Caractacus’s hair, and pulled him down. He lifted his hips at the same time, driving himself into Caractacus’s throat, choking him. Caractacus’s surprise lasted only a moment, and it was replaced quickly by unease. He held onto Nevada’s legs and closed his eyes, trying not to fight. Nevada held tightly to his hair and thrust several times, fucking his throat, gagging him, and Caractacus’s fingers curled against the other man’s thighs.

Nevada released him abruptly, and Caractacus lifted his head, coughing. He swiped a forearm over his mouth and chin. He drew a ragged breath and chanced a quick glance at Nevada’s face. Nevada’s expression was unreadable, impassive, but the green of his eyes had been all but swallowed by his pupils, and he stared back at Caractacus.

Caractacus dropped his gaze to the other man’s lap and bent forward again, sucking at Nevada’s salty tip even harder. He slipped a hand up and carefully lowered Nevada’s zipper the last of the way down, tugging the man’s balls free from his jeans, and he was rewarded with a fresh spurt of precum on his tongue.

Caractacus tipped his head, nosing into Nevada’s sweaty curls to pull one hot testicle into his mouth. He sucked, kneading the weight against his tongue. Nevada’s fingers found their way into his hair again, but he didn’t force Caractacus’s head down; he held on, pulling just enough to sting Caractacus’s scalp.

Nevada had a lot of restraint, but Caractacus knew that he was close—closer than Caractacus had expected him to be this soon. He’d thought it would take longer, and he debated whether or not to stretch things out. He wanted to put a crack in Nevada’s control, though, and he lifted his head, once more pulling the other man into his mouth. He squeezed Nevada’s balls, pressing beneath them with two fingers, and swallowed another pulse of precum.

Caractacus bobbed his head again, sucking, carrying Nevada toward the edge of release with quick but deliberate movements. He felt Nevada’s hips lift off the sofa, felt the fingers in his hair tighten, and he braced himself for another assault on his throat. The assault didn’t come, though, and Caractacus continued to work Nevada’s erection until he heard the change in the other man’s breathing.

He clamped his mouth tight and sucked, and Nevada made a small sound in the back of his throat. A moment later his cock throbbed in Caractacus’s mouth, and thick spurts of semen were flooding Caractacus’s tongue and into his throat. He swallowed without allowing himself to think about how irresponsible it was; he knew nothing about Nevada’s sex life and could only imagine the number of people with whom he’d been.

In that moment, nothing in the world mattered except the harsh sounds of Nevada’s breath, the ripples passing through the muscles of his stomach, and the way his fingers were curled against Caractacus’s scalp. The rest of the world fell away, and there was no one, nothing, but the two of them, connected in a shared and intimate moment.

And then Caractacus lifted his head, releasing Nevada’s spent erection, and the moment was over. Caractacus blinked the real world back into focus, pulling his hand from between Nevada’s legs to wipe at his mouth again. Nevada’s hand fell away from his hair and Caractacus sank back onto his heels. His knees were sore. Next time—assuming Nevada took him up on his offer—he would have to remember to use a cushion.

The two men looked at each other. Nevada had his breathing back under control, and the shine of perspiration on his forehead was the only sign of exertion.

Caractacus cleared his throat. “I’m a little out of practice, but I learn quickly,” he said, drawing a surprised chuff from the other man. Caractacus rose to his feet. Nevada’s eyes followed him as he straightened, and then slid down his body, noting the bulge straining against the front of Caractacus’s colorful trousers.

Nevada seemed surprised to see that Caractacus was aroused, but he said, “If you want to get yourself off, do it in the bathroom. But don’t use the towels, the washer’s broken.”

Caractacus laughed. “Thank you, but I’m good. I need to get home, if that’s alright?”

Nevada flicked his hand in the air: a _go, what do I care?_ gesture.

“So, Mr. Ramirez, do we have a deal?”

“I’ll think about it,” Nevada answered. He lifted his hips and stuffed himself back into his pants, tugging up his zipper while eyeing Caractacus.

Caractacus grabbed his vest and blazer and hesitated. “Would you like me to fix the washing machine before I leave?” he asked. “Or at least take a look and find the problem?”

“Go away. And don’t forget your stupid hat.”

Caractacus smiled, draping his clothes over his arm, and nodded. “Have a good night,” he said, starting away. Nevada got to his feet behind him and followed him toward the door. Caractacus fetched his hat from the hook and put it on before unlocking the door. Nevada was silent behind him, watching. Caractacus opened the door, peering out at the night, looking for signs of Hector or anyone else.

“Come back same time tomorrow,” Nevada said, and Caractacus smiled as he stepped outside.

“Alright,” he answered, but the door was already clicking closed behind him.

 

*       *       *

 

It had been a long time since he’d let someone suck his dick; too long—he’d almost embarrassed himself with Crackpot. There was going to be a second round if only so Nevada could prove that he didn’t always come so quickly and easily. He was going to make the clown _work_ for it.

After he’d finished repairing the washing machine.

The little _mamón_ had the nerve to show up at Nevada’s door ten minutes early with a toolbox in his hand and a smile on his face. The man was entirely too cheerful; if Nevada didn’t know better, he’d suspect the man were an idiot. But Caractacus was smart, and that made his optimism…disconcerting.

Nevada didn’t like being confused by people, and he was confused by Caractacus. He’d saved Nevada’s life knowing who and what he was. And he’d offered to whore himself to Nevada in exchange for rent. Nevada could understand the man’s impulse to do whatever was necessary to provide for his family, but Caractacus had also become aroused while giving Nevada a blowjob. And he’d been borderline cheerful at the end, laughing off his own erection.

Caractacus was willing to let himself be debased, and yet he had pride in his ability to suck a cock. He was willing to work wherever he could, scrubbing toilets or anything else to earn money to feed his kids, but he wasn’t willing to tone down his appearance to blend in. He knew what kind of man Nevada was, and yet he spoke to him respectfully—not in the fearful tone that most people used, but as though, in some universe, they were equals who’d simply gone down different paths in life.

Maybe he was an idiot, after all.

And maybe Nevada was an even bigger fool, because he was standing in his own house at a little past ten pm, with a drink in his hand and an erection in his pants. The erection wasn’t being serviced because he hadn’t stopped Caractacus from going to work on the broken washer, instead, and the erection _existed_ because Caractacus had stripped down to a white undershirt that showed off a surprising amount of muscle. His forearms were streaked with black grease, and his hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead, and Nevada wanted to fuck him.

He’d been thinking about Caractacus’s mouth for most of the day. It was a dangerous preoccupation; he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He was often surrounded by people who wanted to kill him, but now he had to count several of his own men among those ranks. And those men were getting antsy, confused by his inactivity. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the night of the fire, aside from vowing to find the arson and hold him accountable for burning down one of Nevada’s buildings, and the men were wondering if he suspected anything. They couldn’t ask and risk letting on that they knew he’d been at the building.

Nevada was glad to know they were squirming in uncertainty, lying awake at night wondering if he was going to show up at their house to put a bullet in their head. He wanted them to worry. He wanted them to _fear_ the retribution that was coming. He wanted them to wonder in the backs of their minds if they’d gotten away with it, to wonder if enough time had passed to safely try again or if doing so would only sign their own death warrants.

But Nevada wasn’t sleeping easily, either. The previous night had been the first he’d slept for more than an hour at a stretch, and he knew it was because of Caractacus. No, not because of Crackpot, but because of the blowjob.

The cat was sitting on the dryer, watching Caractacus work. Every so often, he would reach over and rub her head or give her ears a quick scratch. And she was purring, Nevada could hear her even from where he stood. He couldn’t remember ever hearing her purr around another person. That sound was usually reserved for when it was just Nevada and the cat.

“You almost done or what?” Nevada asked.

Caractacus looked over at him. “Yes. It’ll work, now.” He gave the cat a quick pat and flipped the lid of his toolbox closed, latching it.

“You walk all the way over here with that thing?”

“Yes. But at least I have a weapon if anyone jumps me.”

“You bring a hammer to a gun fight?” Nevada asked, his lips quirking—involuntarily—when Caractacus laughed. Why the hell did the man laugh so much?

“Anyway, I’m stronger than I look,” Caractacus added, surprising Nevada with a wink.

“You look pretty strong now,” Nevada said before he could stop himself. He glanced at Caractacus’s bare arms and took a quick drink to cover his discomfiture. “Besides, you carried me, yeah?” he asked after he’d swallowed the burning liquor.

Caractacus regarded him for a few seconds, and Nevada silently cursed himself, realizing he’d given something away. It would’ve made more sense to assume Caractacus had dragged him out. “You remember that? I thought you were unconscious.”

“Woke up when you dropped me,” Nevada lied. “You gonna keep talking all night?”

“No.” Caractacus looked at Nevada’s distended fly, and back at his face. “I’ll just wash up—” he said, starting forward, but Nevada stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Caractacus drew up short, startled. They were suddenly very close, and Nevada could smell the other man. He smelled sweet, some strange mixture of citrus and vanilla that Nevada found surprisingly, and alarmingly, attractive. The man smelled like candy, and Nevada wanted to taste him. That was not an impulse that he would be indulging. Or admitting.

Nevada unsnapped his jeans with his free hand. He held Caractacus’s gaze, sipping at his drink.

“Alright,” Caractacus said. He glanced around and pointed at the hamper. “May I use this?” he asked, indicating a dirty towel on top of the laundry. Nevada shrugged, taking another drink. He watched as Caractacus grabbed the towel, folded it, and dropped it onto the floor by Nevada’s feet. Caractacus sank gracefully to his knees on the towel.

 

*       *       *

 

Caractacus stood in the doorway of the twins’ bedroom for a long time, watching them sleep.

When they were younger, he’d often found his wife standing just as he was, now. She’d always laugh and say she couldn’t help it. _They’re perfect, Jack_ , she’d say. _We made them._

They hadn’t been rich by any standards back then, but they’d had a modest home, and Caractacus had been able to comfortably support his family. But Mimsie had always had big dreams—not for herself, but for them. For him, for their children. Her dreams had been infectious, and so had her optimism, and before Caractacus knew it, they’d packed up their meager belongings and moved across the globe.

And they’d been happy. They’d been hopeful.

Now, hope was in short supply. Caractacus had been swimming against the current for years, and he could feel himself drowning. He did his best to remember the good times and look forward to all the good things bound to come, but the future had grown increasingly murky and his memories had become faded and discolored. There would almost certainly come a day when his best was simply not good enough.

Even now, he could taste Nevada in his mouth. It wasn’t so bad; he’d gone into the arrangement willingly, and Nevada had not yet treated him poorly. Not _too_ poorly, anyway. And Caractacus did find the other man physically attractive, which made it easier; he could almost convince himself that it was something else, something less debasing.

The men who’d tried to kill Nevada were still alive, and still working for the man, though. That was troubling for a several reasons. Every day that they were walking the streets was another day they might learn of Caractacus’s role in Nevada being alive. Every day they worked for Nevada was another day he might decide to forgive them, or take their word over that of Caractacus’s. Every day they had access to Nevada was another day they might actually kill him. None of those scenarios would play well for Caractacus.

He would deal with whatever situation arose. He had no choice but to keep going. Mimsie had been right—Jeremy and Jemima were perfect, and they were his reason for everything. They were his life, and his source of hope when the world seemed especially dark. No matter what, he would make sure they were alright, and that they had a chance at the future he wanted for them.

He pulled their door almost closed and headed toward the bathroom for a cold shower. His arrangement with Nevada might be nothing more than business, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to the other man’s pleasure. The walk home had made it less noticeable, but there had been just enough friction to keep him a little stimulated. Caractacus hadn’t been with anyone since his wife’s death, so he couldn’t judge himself too harshly for his arousal.

He wasn’t about to jerk himself off in Nevada’s bathroom. He’d considered doing it in his own bathroom, in a nice hot shower, but he couldn’t do it. He knew he would only feel worse afterward.

 

*       *       *

 

“Can I fix this for you?”

Nevada glanced at the clock. “The fuck you wanna fix everything for.”

Caractacus shrugged. “Because I can,” he answered. “And that clock is fifty years old, I thought it might be important.”

“It’s a clock.”

“A broken clock. Hanging on your wall.” Caractacus pulled on his jacket. “Anyway, machines are what I understand.”

“So why don’t you get a job as a mechanic?”

Caractacus smiled, but Nevada could see the sadness in it. “I’ve had a lot of those. But, you know.” He shrugged again. “Life has setbacks. We move on. I’m still working on finding something more than an odd job. Let me know if you want me to fix it tomorrow.”

It was Caractacus’s third night at Nevada’s. The third time he’d sucked the other man off. Tonight had been rougher than the two previous times. Caractacus’s throat felt bruised, and he could still feel the burn in his scalp. When he’d pushed against Nevada’s thighs, Nevada had relented, though, and that was no small thing. Caractacus wasn’t upset about anything that had happened between them, and he was once again leaving with a semi-erection.

Nevada, on the other hand, seemed strangely subdued. “It’s fine,” he said.

Caractacus nodded and turned away.

“Do you jerk yourself off when you get home?”

“No,” Caractacus answered without looking back. He grabbed his hat from the hook. “Cold showers.”

“Why?”

Caractacus plopped his hat onto his head. “Why? I guess I’m not interested in getting myself off—”

“No, I mean, why—” Nevada interrupted him, but cut himself off just as abruptly.

Caractacus turned to face him. “I told you I found you physically attractive.”

“That’s not what you said,” Nevada answered. “And even so…” He was frowning, and Caractacus could feel the other man’s confusion.

“It’s been a long time,” Caractacus admitted. He’d said so the first night, but this was different. “And at the risk of you taking this as a challenge, it hasn’t been so bad, you know? I like making you come. I like the sounds you make.”

Nevada stared at him. “Do you always say everything in your head?” he asked.

Caractacus laughed—a genuine laugh, which only seemed to add to Nevada’s confusion. “Not everything, but there’s no point in lying, is there?”

“I don’t make sounds.”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow night?”

“Do your kids know you leave every night?”

“They’re sleeping. If they wake, they’ll think I went for a walk. They can call if they need me.” He’d made a point of ensuring he had his cell before leaving for Nevada’s. He’d even set an alarm to remind himself to charge it during the day.

“You do that a lot?”

“I don’t sleep much these days. These years,” Caractacus amended with a small smile.

“This place isn’t safe to wander around at night.”

“No,” Caractacus agreed. They both knew that without his nightly walks, Nevada wouldn’t be alive. There was no reason to point it out. “But no place is really safe, is it? Bad things happen everywhere.”

“And your kids? They have trouble here? In school?”

Caractacus wasn’t sure why Nevada was so talkative this evening. It seemed like he didn’t want Caractacus to leave. “My children are happy,” he said. “In spite of everything, they’re able to see the good in the world. It might not seem like they have much in common with kids around here, but…deep down, all kids want the same things, no matter where they come from or how grown up they act. They want to laugh and play, and they want to feel safe. It’s my job to give them the latter so they can do the former.”

Nevada didn’t answer, but Caractacus could see pain in the other man’s eyes. Real pain, pain that Caractacus suspected very few people had ever seen; he knew that Nevada didn’t intend for _him_ to see it, but it was there, laid bare for several seconds before it was hidden away behind the mask.

“You don’t have to come tomorrow. We’ll call it even.”

Caractacus hesitated. “I know I’m good and all, but three blowjobs do not equal a month—”

“You paid most of the rent,” Nevada cut in with a scowl.

Caractacus had already been more than a month behind, but that wasn’t the point. He was more worried about _future_ rent, and it seemed that Nevada was putting an end to their deal. “I…look, I know we’re not friends, but…if you’re not interested in sex anymore, I can do other things. I can fix things, build things, clean, anything. And…you can talk to me, if you want.”

Nevada cocked an eyebrow. “Talk? About what, _Chiflado_?”

“Anything. I don’t know how many of your men you can trust right now—”

“I trust no one,” Nevada said in a low, cold voice. “And you’re right, we’re not friends. Get out.” Caractacus didn’t immediately move, and Nevada stepped closer. “Go,” he said, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Alright,” Caractacus answered, moving backward. He tried to fight the fear that had begun to churn in his stomach. It wasn’t a fear of Nevada, in spite of the look on the other man’s face. It was a fear of the future. He didn’t want to need Nevada’s mercy but was afraid of what might happen without it.

He did his best to shove those thoughts aside. As he always told his children, worrying about the future was a fool’s errand.

“If you decide you do need a friend, you know where to find me.”

Nevada glared at him. Caractacus left without another word. At least he didn’t have to walk home with an erection, after all. For Caractacus, fear was not an aphrodisiac.

 

*       *       *

 

He was tap dancing on the cracked concrete of the basketball court. He wasn’t wearing tap shoes, but he was tap dancing nonetheless. And the kids—kids that should be too jaded to do anything other than mock or sneer or, at the very least, feign disinterest—were laughing and clapping.

_Deep down, all kids want the same things, no matter where they come from or how grown up they act. They want to laugh and play, and they want to feel safe._

The boy, Jeremy, he looked a bit like that other kid. _The_ kid. His hair and eyes and skin were all lighter, but there was something in the round cheeks, the shape of his face and the lines of his mouth, something that reminded Nevada of the other one.

Then again, a lot of kids reminded him of that other one.

The girl wasn’t in the playground with her father and brother and the group of neighborhood kids. She’d hurried back to the apartment building to get something. Now, she was creeping along the edge of the building, trying to sneak up on him. He was leaned against the corner of the building, ankles crossed, mostly hidden from the late afternoon sun. He took a deep pull from his cigarette.

“It’s quite warm for a leather coat,” she said.

Nevada turned his head toward her, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Don’t you know not to talk to strangers?” he answered, regarding her from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“How are you a stranger?” she asked, lifting her chin. “I’ve met you.” She wrinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of her face.

“Oh, right, _la chica con las monedas_.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Want a smoke?”

“Those will give you cancer.”

He laughed, taking another drag. “I should be so lucky,” he said as he inhaled.

“My mother died from cancer,” she said.

“Hmm,” he answered, turning his head to look across the street at Caractacus and the kids. He blew his smoke into the air and asked, “How long ago?” He watched as Caractacus pulled a string of colorful handkerchiefs from his sleeve, to the delight of the kids. He really was a clown.

“One year, five months, and twelve days,” she said, surprising him. He turned his head to look at her and had to resist the inexplicable—and unwelcome—urge to shift beneath her appraising stare. “Are you a nice person?” she asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she answered.

“I knew you were the smart one in the family.”

“My daddy is the smartest person maybe in the whole world,” she said. He rolled his eyes behind the glasses, chuckling as he dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and toed it out. “He’s a lot smarter than you.”

“You got the smartest _mouth_ , anyway,” he said. He looked down at her. “If he was smart he’d get you out of here.”

“He’s trying,” she said, and for a moment he saw her bravado slip. Then she lifted her chin and said, “He will, too. Daddy can fix anything.”

“Life isn’t a broken clock, _Dama_ ,” he said. He saw Caractacus in his peripheral vision, leaving the group of children to walk toward the street. Nevada swore under his breath.

“He says everything is fixable, you just have to be optimistic.”

“Yeah? Did optimism save your mother?”

She looked briefly stricken. That had been his goal, of course, and he ignored the guilt gnawing at his stomach. She wasn’t as soft and innocent as he’d first thought, but she still needed to toughen up if she wanted to survive the cruel world. “I’m not a lady, you know,” she said. “But I guess you meant it as an insult. The kids at school think my accent’s funny, too. They say I sound like Hermione Granger.”

“The fuck is that?” he asked.

She surprised him by smiling. “She’s from Harry Potter,” she said.

“Huh. Well, if you were home, you’d be making fun of _their_ accents, _si, chica_?”

“I don’t have a home,” she said quietly, glancing toward her father as he started across the street. “Not anymore. But I have Daddy and Remy.”

Nevada didn’t answer. He watched from behind his glasses as Caractacus approached.

“Mimi, are you bothering Mr. Ramirez?”

“He didn’t ask me to go away,” she answered with a small shrug.

Nevada looked at her. “Go away,” he said.

She smiled again. “ _Hasta luego_ , Mr. Ramirez,” she told him. “Oh, here, Daddy,” she added, pulling an ancient-looking cell phone from her pocket and handing it to her father.

Caractacus bent and kissed her head. “Thank you, poppet,” he said. “Run along, I’ll be there in a minute.” He watched until she was safely across the street, and then he turned to Nevada. “What were you two talking about?”

“No idea. I stopped listening. She talks as much as you do.”

Caractacus laughed quietly. “Yes, she does,” he agreed. “Although she usually has more important things to say than I do. Did you need something?”

“Need something?” Nevada smirked. “Here, in broad daylight, on the street? Think of the children.”

Caractacus didn’t lose his smile. “You know what I mean.”

“Can’t a guy smoke in peace?”

“Sure,” Caractacus said. “Mr. Torrence from the corner store called me.”

“Hmm.”

“Said I had the job if I want it.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Did you do something?”

“Do something?”

“I don’t want you threatening people on my behalf.”

“Do you want the job?”

“Yes.”

“Then shut up and take it. And talk to the woman in 11B. _Señora_ Alva. She’ll watch your kids when you’re not there.”

Caractacus opened his mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words.

“The sooner you make money, the sooner you get out of here, _sí_?”

“Right,” Caractacus said. Nevada uncrossed his ankles and straightened away from the wall. He nodded once and started to turn away. Caractacus, on impulse, reached for his arm. “Thank you, Nevada,” he said.

Nevada looked down at Caractacus’s hand. “Don’t touch me,” he said quietly, and Caractacus immediately dropped his arm to his side. Nevada swallowed and glanced around from behind the shield of his glasses. “Not here. People can think you’re my whore, but don’t give them reason to think I care.”

“No,” Caractacus agreed. Nevada was right. If anyone thought for a moment that Nevada cared about Caractacus, that they were friends, Caractacus would have a target on his back. “Do you want me to come to your house tonight?”

Nevada looked up and down the street again without turning his head. “You owe me nothing,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Ten,” Nevada said. He turned and strode away without waiting for a response.

 

*       *       *

 

“I appreciate the help with the job, even if I do worry about what your methods might’ve been.”

Caractacus had taken off his jacket and hat, but now both men were standing in the middle of the room, looking at each other. Caractacus wasn’t sure what was expected of him, this time.

“You don’t belong here, man,” Nevada said. “Your children don’t be _long_ here.”

“No,” Caractacus agreed. He looked around the room, thinking about Mimsie and the dreams they’d had. “We put a down payment on a house, you know? We had a yard. A dog. A good school, a nice park, steady work. Dreams.” He met Nevada’s eyes. “And then my wife got sick, and the cancer didn’t just eat away at her. It took our savings, our house, our dreams. I’ve been trying to climb back up the ladder but most days it feels like someone’s right above me sawing through the rungs.”

“Plus you got the weight of two _niños_ on your back.”

Caractacus shook his head. “Would life be easier with one mouth to feed instead of three? If I could simply pack a bag and take off walking somewhere? Sure. But that’s not a life I want. My children are my reason for living, the only reason I get up every morning and the only reason I didn’t follow my wife into the ground.”

Nevada was silent for a long time, and Caractacus waited, still unsure what he was supposed to be doing. “You saved my life,” he finally said. “As long as I’m alive, keep your rent money. No one will know. Work for _Señor_ Torrence, save your money, and get your kids out of this place. But you shouldn’t be seen with me anymore.”

“As long as you’re alive?” Caractacus asked, feeling ill.

“Don’t look so green, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada said.

“I can’t help it. You speak so casually of people wanting to murder you. Of people you’ve…” He shook his head.

“This world is kill or be killed. We don’t grow old here, _mi amigo_.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Like this. You could start over. You almost died—you could take the second chance—”

“I’ve almost died a hundred times.”

“Fine, then your hundred and first chance. Nevada, whether you believe it or not, I don’t want to see you lying dead—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nevada cut in. “It’s very unlikely you’d see. They’ll toss my body—”

“It’s not funny.”

“Why do you care? At least you have a job, now. You do a good job then Torrence won’t fire you, you pay your rent to the next guy, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t think you’re as bad as you want people to believe.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not saying I don’t think you’ve done terrible things, Nevada. I’m talking about how you feel about what you’ve done.”

“A lot of people would like to kill me, _Chiflado_. My own guys. And they have reason. Don’t be foolish enough to think they don’t.”

“Well…I don’t want to kill you.”

Nevada twisted his lips into something resembling a smile. “You don’t know me like they do.”

“No?” Caractacus returned. “Do they suck your dick?”

Nevada laughed—the most genuine laugh Caractacus had heard from him. “They wish.”

“So, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you don’t care anything about me or my kids or anyone but yourself.” He stepped forward and saw Nevada’s throat bob. “But Nevada, as long as you’re alive, you have a chance to—” Caractacus broke off at the sound of a knock on the door behind him, and he looked over his shoulder.

“Shit,” Nevada said, glancing at his watch. He turned and snatched a gun from the end table; Caractacus hadn’t even noticed it lying there, and before he’d had time to process the other man’s movements, the gun had been shoved into Nevada’s waistband.

“Do you want me to…hide or something?”

Nevada shot him a look that was part annoyance, part amusement. “Just stand over there and look pretty,” he said, heading toward the door. He yanked it open with no apparent fear, but Caractacus tried to brace himself for a potential hail of gunfire. “This better be important,” he said without preamble, glaring out at the men on his doorstep.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Hector said.

“You think I didn’t want to talk to you?” Nevada shot back.

“It’s important,” Hector said.

Nevada stepped aside with an impatient wave of his hand. “Make it fast,” he said as Hector and the other two men walked into the house. Hector faltered at the sight of Caractacus, glancing back as Nevada closed the door.

“We interrupting something?”

“Of course you’re interrupting,” Nevada snapped. “Say what you came to say.”

Hector glanced at the other two men and hooked a thumb toward Caractacus. “In front of Crackpot?”

“ _Dilo en Español_.”

“What if he—”

“ _No entiende Español, es un idiota_ ,” Nevada snapped. Then, to Caractacus, with an angry flick of his wrist, “Go sit on the couch, _mamón_.”

Caractacus walked to the sofa on stiff legs and lowered himself to the cushion. His heart was beating erratically. He had no idea what might happen, and he wanted to leave. He didn’t dare ask, though. Doing so might make the situation worse, no matter what answer he was given.

“ _Hablar_ ,” Nevada said.

It wasn’t Hector who started, but one of the other two. He said only a few words, words that even someone with minimal knowledge of Spanish could decipher: “Angelo _está muerto_.”

Nevada was silent for several seconds. “ _Cómo_.” His voice was cold, flat.

Caractacus chanced a glance over at Nevada. His expression was cold, too, but Caractacus knew instinctively that he was upset. Whoever Angelo was, his death meant something to Nevada—something more than just the death of an acquaintance.

The men broke into rapid-fire Spanish, talking over each other, interrupting, each vying for the final say. Nevada interjected occasionally, mostly single word questions. Caractacus noticed that he’d placed himself with his back to the kitchen, so that all four of the other men—Caractacus included—were in his line of sight. Hector was the only one of the three that Caractacus knew had been involved in the scheme to kill Nevada, but Nevada didn’t trust any of them.

“ _Estas sordo? Dije que no_ ,” Nevada said, so sharply that Caractacus looked over in surprise.

“Angelo _merece venganza_ ,” one of the men responded, but he spoke hesitantly, clearly intimidated by Nevada’s tone and expression.

“Do not tell me what he deserves, I know Angelo longer than you’re alive,” Nevada said. “ _I_ decide what to do, and until I say, no one makes a move. _Entender_?”

“Sure,” the man said. They seemed to understand that Nevada switching to English meant the discussion was over, but they glanced around at each other, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“If this is because of Marcus—” Hector started.

“Marcus is gone.” Nevada stared at Hector, and Caractacus couldn’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to miss the warning in his eyes.

“Rumor says he’s back around,” Hector said. “You ain’t heard from him?”

“You think he wants to talk to me?” Nevada asked with a mean smile.

“I’m just wondering what side you’re gonna—”

“You already ruined my plans for tonight, _manito_ ,” Nevada said in a silky voice. “You want to keep talking?”

One of the other men said, “We didn’t mean nothin’, _Jefe_ , we just thought you’d want us to do somethin’—”

“Yeah, no worries,” Hector said. He held up his hands, palms facing Nevada. “You’re the boss. We wait ‘til you say go.”

“I want everyone here in the morning,” Nevada said.

Hector glanced back toward Caractacus. “What time you want we should wait until, so we make sure you’re alone?”

Nevada laughed. “You think he sleeps over, _ese_?”

“Suck and go, huh?” Hector said with a grin, looking at Caractacus with a glint in his eyes. “You mind he sucks our dicks, too? Since we ain’t goin’ after Marcus tonight.”

Nevada laughed. “What you asking me for?”

“Didn’t know if you two had like a thing, you know.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, you know. If he’s off-limits or whatever.”

“Whose dick he suck’s his business,” Nevada said with a shrug.

Hector turned to Caractacus and looked him over again. “That all he does?” he asked, and Caractacus felt a cold ball settling into his stomach.

Nevada walked into the kitchen and poured himself a drink, but he never took his eyes off the other men. “He doesn’t do anything for free,” he said. “You want something, you pay for it.”

Hector seemed unhappy about that, but the glint in his eyes didn’t wane as he stared at Caractacus. After a few seconds, he fished into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. When he opened it, Caractacus saw a substantial wad of cash. _Guess I should’ve been a drug dealer_ , he thought.

“C’mere,” Hector said, and Caractacus rose and walked toward him on stiff legs. Hector held up a twenty dollar bill and raised his eyebrows at Caractacus.

“He’s worth more than that,” Nevada said. He was leaning against the end of the counter, sipping at his drink.

Hector grimaced, tossing Nevada an annoyed look. “Fine,” he said. “Only ‘cause I’m curious what’s all the fuss about.” He pulled out a hundred dollar bill, instead. “Ain’t never been a blowjob worth more’n this,” he said. He held the money toward Caractacus. His other hand had already settled onto his own belt buckle.

“No,” Caractacus said. “Thank you,” he added, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“ _No_? The fuck you mean, no?” Hector reached out and grabbed Caractacus’s wrist, pulling his hand up. He shoved the money into his palm. “Hundred bucks? Who the fuck you think you are? Go in the bathroom ‘less you want everyone to watch.”

Caractacus shook his head. The money was in his hand, but he kept it extended toward the other man. “I don’t want this,” he said. “Keep it, I’m not interested.”

Hector stepped closer so that Caractacus’s hand was against his chest. “I’m not asking, _mamón,_ ” he said in a low voice that sent a cold shiver through Caractacus. “You don’t got no choice.”

 _Please don’t make me do this_ , Caractacus thought, glancing at Nevada for only a moment before turning his eyes back to Hector. “You can probably force me,” he said. “Put a gun to my head. I might be too afraid of the gun to bite your dick off.” He was glad that there was no tremor in his voice; his fear was significant, but he’d so far kept it successfully caged in his chest.

The other men laughed.

“Guess he has a choice after all,” Nevada said. His tone was casual, laced with just a hint of amusement. He was still leaned against the counter, drink in hand—Caractacus could see him in his peripheral vision but didn’t dare look at him again. He couldn’t expect Nevada to help him. Even if Nevada _wanted_ to, he couldn’t risk letting Hector know that Caractacus’s feelings might matter.

“Yeah,” Hector breathed without taking his eyes from Caractacus’s face. “You got a choice, _chico_ , you suck my cock for a hundred bucks or I keep my money but fuck you ‘til you can’t ever walk right again.”

“You do what you have to do,” Caractacus said through numb lips.

Hector grabbed the front of Caractacus’s shirt and pulled him forward, driving a knee up into his stomach. All the air left Caractacus’s body on a gasp of pain, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, trying to breathe. Hector’s hand was in his hair, yanking his head back as he fumbled with his belt buckle with the other hand.

“You bite me, I knock your teeth out, Crackpot,” he said.

Caractacus pushed weakly against the man’s thighs. His vision was blurred, his brain screaming for oxygen, and he finally managed to draw a burning breath into his body. He immediately coughed, but Hector was pulling his head forward, and Caractacus didn’t have the strength to fight.

Caractacus couldn’t see anything but the blurry image of Hector’s crotch. He had no idea where anyone else was in the room until Nevada yanked Hector backward and threw him toward the table. Caractacus was jerked by his hair before Hector’s hand slipped free, and he fell forward onto the floor, barely keeping himself up with shaky arms. He blinked, gasping for breath, trying to process what was happening.

Hector slammed into the edge of the table hard enough to shove it a foot across the floor, and he swore in a mixture of surprise and pain. Caractacus managed to focus his eyes enough to see that the other two men had moved to the door and were watching the scene unfold.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Hector spat. “What the fuck, man, you said you didn’t care!”

“I said it was his choice,” Nevada said coldly. Hector was fastening his belt buckle with angry movements, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes as Nevada stared him down. “What you do in your house is your business, _manito_ , but you don’t bring that shit in mine.”

“Christ,” Hector repeated, jerking at his shirt to straighten it. “Fine. You said you didn’t have a thing.”

“It’s not about him, it’s about you respecting me and my house. You respect me and my house, Hector?”

“Sure,” Hector said. “Fine. Sorry, Boss.” He smoothed his hands down his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair. “Won’t happen again. I get my money back?”

“No. We’ll talk in the morning to see if there’s anything new about Angelo,” Nevada said, watching the three men as they stepped out into the night. He crossed to the door and locked it behind them.

Caractacus pushed himself to his feet with a wince, holding his arm over his stomach. “Solar plexus,” he muttered. “Good shot, actually.”

Nevada appeared before him and pushed a glass into Caractacus’s hand. “Drink,” he said, and Caractacus obediently sipped the liquor. It burned his throat, but he knew it would help ease the pain in his abdomen. “Sit,” Nevada said, leading him by the arm toward the sofa. Nevada stuffed the hundred dollar bill into Caractacus’s front pocket—Caractacus hadn’t even noticed him retrieving it from the floor—and then pushed Caractacus into the cushions.

Some of the liquor splashed onto the sofa, but Nevada didn’t comment. He stood watching as Caractacus took another small drink. Nevada was upset; Caractacus could see it in his face, in his eyes. Not just about what had happened with Hector, no, it was more than that. It was about what they’d been discussing in their rapid Spanish.

“I speak Spanish, Nevada—or at least understand it fairly well.”

“I know, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada answered quietly.

Caractacus hesitated. “You… _wanted_ me to understand?”

Nevada started to pace the floor, looking at Caractacus. “Why didn’t you take his offer? _Cien dólares_.”

“He smells like stale beer and probably tastes like piss. And I don’t like him.”

Nevada made a sound of amusement despite the pain lingering in his eyes. “Nobody likes Hector. What’s that got to do with anything? You don’t like me, either.”

Caractacus didn’t answer. He knew he shouldn’t feel sympathy for Nevada, not after everything the man had done to hurt others, but that knowledge didn’t change his feelings. He’d seen something in Nevada—something more than just the occasional glimpse of mercy, of humanity—and he knew that Nevada’s talk about not having regrets was all part of the act. He had plenty of regrets.

He also seemed disturbed by Caractacus’s silence. “I should’ve let them have you,” he murmured after a moment.

“Angelo was a friend of yours. Wasn’t he,” Caractacus said. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t have friends.”

“Who’s Marcus?”

Nevada walked toward him slowly. “Why you asking so many questions?”

“Why’d you let me sit here and listen?”

“What’s it matter, what you hear, don’t hear?” Nevada returned, shrugging as he approached.

“I think you want to talk to someone.”

Nevada pulled his gun from his waistband and hefted it in his hand, looking down at it. “You shouldn’t antagonize them,” he said quietly. He set the gun on the end table and looked at Caractacus. “If they give you an offer, you should take it.”

“What do you mean, an offer? What kind of offer?”

“ _Venga_ , _Chiflado_ , you’re smart, yeah?”

“You mean to betray you?”

“Betray?” Nevada repeated with a bitter laugh. “You think I think you’re loyal? You look out for you, that’s the way it should be. Angelo was the last—” He stopped and ran his tongue along his lower lip.

“You think they’re going to succeed. Why do they want to kill you?”

“They chose a side,” Nevada said. “They chose the side they thought would win.”

“Who’s on the other side? Marcus? Does Marcus want you dead?”

“More than anyone,” Nevada answered. The words were barely audible, and he looked away, his eyes landing on the gun.

“And Angelo? Did _he_?”

“No. Angelo sent me the picture I showed you. He tried to warn me.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“I did.”

“You believed him, but you didn’t do anything about it. Because part of you doesn’t want to fight. Maybe you hurt Marcus, you think you deserve it.”

Nevada closed his eyes and drew a breath through his nose. “What do you know?” he muttered.

“You said you’ve known Angelo—”

“Stop saying his name.”

“Alright. I’m sorry,” Caractacus said, and Nevada’s eyes opened and found his face. “You said you’ve known him longer than your guy has been alive. You were kids together?”

“We’re the only ones left,” Nevada said. He sniffed and scratched at the dark hair on his jaw. Caractacus could read his unspoken thought: _Now I’m the only one left_. “He should’ve looked out for himself.”

“Stab you in the back?” When Nevada didn’t answer, Caractacus asked, “Is that what you would’ve done? Did you? Throw him under the bus?”

Nevada’s expression twisted, and for a few seconds his pain was laid bare. He shook his head and his expression hardened. “He called the _bomberos_ ,” he said. “But you already had me out by the time he got there, so he waited until you left.”

“He helped—that’s how you disappeared so quickly. When I looked back you were gone. Wait, he saw me? Did he know who I was?”

“Yes.”

“And he told you, is that how you knew I carried you?”

“No.”

Caractacus considered. “You were conscious?”

“I woke up,” Nevada agreed. “Saw your face, thought I must be dead,” he added with a small smile. He seemed about to say more, but didn’t.

“Help me understand,” Caractacus said.

“What?”

“Nevada, it’ll help you to talk this out with someone, someone whose opinion doesn’t matter to you.”

“You should go home. I don’t think they’ll go there, but I don’t—”

“The children aren’t there,” Caractacus cut in. “I left them with Mrs. Alva, like you suggested. I like her. And her grandsons are visiting, they got along well—”

“ _Por qué_?”

“You want an honest answer?”

“You’re the one who said there was no point lying.”

Caractacus smiled. “True. I thought I might be here longer than usual,” he admitted. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “Tell me. Maybe there’s a solution. I’m good at fixing things.”

“I’m not fixable,” Nevada said.

“Tell me anyway,” Caractacus answered. “What can it hurt? You don’t care what I think of you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Marcus—Is he related to the kid you…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, but he could see the guilt in Nevada’s eyes.

“No.”

“Someone else you killed?”

Nevada hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said.

“Alright. Is…he a good guy?”

Nevada raised his eyebrows. “A good guy?” he repeated. “What do I know from good?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Caractacus said.

“No. But he was, once.”

“It’s all an eye for an eye. When does it end?”

“This story ends with me and him. Then there’s another story. Maybe it’s mine, maybe it’s his.”

“Fine. You killed someone close to him. He wants to kill you. He’s turned all your men against you, all except Ang—except one, who tried to help you. He took pictures of the men meeting behind your back, and he called the fire department the night they tried to kill you. He would’ve saved you if I hadn’t.”

“He would’ve been too late.”

“He told you I was there, so it’s possible the others know, too. Who killed him? Those men blamed Marcus but you think they’re working for Marcus, don’t you?”

“Marcus texted me to meet him. And I went. I never saw the others before I was knocked out. I kept them wondering on purpose, thinking maybe I didn’t know they were involved and I was just trying to protect Marcus.”

“Were you? Protecting him? Is that why you haven’t done anything to retaliate?”

Nevada regarded him in silence. After a few moments, he turned and walked toward the bedroom. He disappeared into the other room, and Caractacus heard a drawer open and close. Caractacus set the glass on the floor and got to his feet. The pain had subsided to a dull and bearable ache.

Nevada returned carrying a gun and held it out, grip-first. “Take it,” he said, nodding toward the weapon when Caractacus made no move to reach for it. “It’s loaded. Safety’s on.”

“I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out. It’s just another machine, right?” Nevada said with a smile. “Take it. For protection.”

“No,” Caractacus said, shaking his head. “No, I’m not taking that around my kids.”

“ _Idiota_ ,” Nevada said. “If men come, they’ll all have guns. I won’t be able to protect you—”

Caractacus pulled the gun from the Nevada’s hand and set it on the end table, beside the other one. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “You’re right, I don’t belong here. And I’m an idiot. And maybe I’m failing my children. But I cannot allow myself to become someone I’m not.”

“You’re not failing them,” Nevada said. “But you should go home. You never should’ve gotten pulled into this.”

“I’m not leaving you alone right now,” Caractacus answered, and he saw Nevada’s throat working. Caractacus put a hand against the other man’s chest. “Tomorrow will come, Nevada. But right now, right here…you’re safe with me. You can let your guard down, I promise not to use it against you.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Nevada’s. Nevada’s lips parted in surprise, and his breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists.

Caractacus dipped his head, kissing the hollow of Nevada’s shoulder. He kissed his way across Nevada’s chest, down his stomach as he slowly sank into a crouch. He pushed Nevada’s shirt up and touched his lips to the soft curls that led into the waistband of his jeans. Nevada’s stomach rose and fell against his mouth, and his hands settled onto Caractacus’s shoulders.

Caractacus unbuckled the other man’s belt and unbuttoned his jeans, carefully lowering his zipper. He kissed Nevada’s belly again and trailed light kisses downward, down along the length of his hardening cock. He closed his mouth around Nevada gently, pressing lightly at that familiar vein with the tip of his tongue.

Caractacus could already feel his own body responding to Nevada growing in his mouth, and for the first time he gave in and palmed himself, rubbing at the tightening crotch of his plaid trousers. He worked at Nevada’s erection slowly, gently, relishing the pressure of Nevada’s fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Get up,” Nevada said suddenly, pulling at Caractacus’s shirt.

Caractacus looked up in surprise but rose without question. Nevada snaked his fingers into the back of Caractacus’s hair, pulling him forward to kiss him. He shoved his tongue roughly into Caractacus’s mouth, and his other hand slipped between Caractacus’s legs, pressing against his erection and feeling the weight settled against the seam of the trousers. Caractacus made a sound in his throat, leaning into the touch.

Nevada pulled back, releasing the other man, and pushed him toward the bedroom. “Go,” he said, as Caractacus took a step backward to keep his balance. Nevada pulled his shirt up and over his head, leaving himself in a black tank top that swooped low on his chest. “Strip,” he commanded softly, his eyes raking down the length of Caractacus’s body.

Caractacus headed toward the bedroom with a dry mouth and a thudding heart, shucking his shirt as he went. He could feel Nevada following closely behind him, and Caractacus’s erection had grown painful inside his tight pants. His body was desperate for more contact, something other than the friction of hot, dry cotton against his skin.

He felt a moment of doubt as he unfastened his fly, but he pushed it aside. He wanted this; he wanted to feel Nevada inside him, to feel him lose himself, even temporarily, inside of Caractacus’s body. Caractacus shoved his pants down and kicked off his shoes. The air was cool against his flushed skin. He could feel Nevada’s eyes on him, but before he could turn to look back, Nevada put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him forward toward the bed. Caractacus fell onto his hands on the mattress and felt Nevada’s warm fingers trace lightly down his back, making him shiver.

Nevada’s hands slid over his hips, and his thumbs pulled at Caractacus’s cheeks, opening him to the cool whisper of air. A moment later Nevada pressed closer, and Caractacus could feel the other man’s erection, and the rough scrape of the zipper, against his ass. Nevada leaned forward and put his hand under Caractacus’s face.

“Suck,” he ordered, and Caractacus obediently pulled the first two fingers into his mouth. “Good and wet, _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada murmured, poking a dry thumb at Caractacus’s anus while Caractacus worked up as much saliva as he could, slobbering on Nevada’s fingers.

Nevada straightened, and Caractacus missed the weight of his body. He shifted instinctively, searching for contact. A second later, Nevada ran his wet fingers along the crack of Caractacus’s ass, pressing at his opening. Caractacus gasped and pushed himself backward as Nevada slid a finger inside him.

“You want me inside you?” Nevada asked, stretching him slowly with a second finger.

“ _Yesss_ ,” Caractacus hissed in spite of the sting.

“You’re _apretado_ ,” Nevada remarked. “Tight.”

“It’s been a long time.” Nevada’s fingers disappeared and Caractacus heard the sound of him spitting. “But it’s like riding a bike, right?”

Nevada snorted softly, once more rubbing his dripping fingers over the other man’s opening. He pushed two fingers inside and spat into his other palm. Caractacus looked back over his shoulder to see Nevada giving himself a few hard strokes. Nevada met his eyes and flexed his fingers inside of Caractacus, smiling at his involuntary sound.

“You want me to split you wide open?”

Caractacus swallowed. He didn’t like pain, but he could tolerate it. He wanted to feel Nevada inside him, wanted to feel him lose control. “Yes,” he said.

Nevada searched what he could see of Caractacus’s face. “I’m gonna hurt you, _Chiflado_ ,” he said, but his voice and expression were surprisingly soft.

“I don’t care,” Caractacus said. He watched as Nevada shoved his jeans down and kicked them aside, watched as he added more spit to his hand and stroked himself a few more times, and then Caractacus turned his face forward, hanging his head, waiting. Nevada fingered him for a few more moments, and then Caractacus felt the flared head of Nevada’s cock stretching him open.

“You should stop me,” Nevada said in a low voice.

Caractacus shook his head, his hair flopping on his forehead. “I can take it,” he said, bracing himself mentally and physically.

Nevada pushed forward, moving slower than Caractacus expected, opening him up. Caractacus felt the sting shift into a burn, and he closed his eyes. Nevada stopped, eased back a bit. He spat, rubbing the saliva around Caractacus’s stretched ring of muscle. He pushed forward again, until he was half-buried, and paused.

“Please,” Caractacus said, bracing his hands on the mattress and trying to push himself backward.

Nevada smacked his ass, hard enough to sting but not really hurt. Caractacus sucked in a quick breath. “Hold on,” Nevada said. He drew back a bit and, holding Caractacus’s hips, thrust forward, filling him quickly.

Caractacus made another involuntary sound and dropped his head onto the bedspread, reaching a hand back to clutch at Nevada’s hip. Nevada stopped, waiting, giving Caractacus’s body a chance to relax. He ran a hand up Caractacus’s back, his touch gentle, surprisingly soothing. When he started moving, he set a slow and easy rhythm at first. With every slow flex, he brushed Caractacus’s prostate, and Caractacus could feel his own erection twitching in response. He wanted to reach for himself but resisted.

As though reading his mind, Nevada wrapped an arm around him and circled his fingers around Caractacus’s cock, and Caractacus jerked against his hand, startled, letting out a small cry.

Nevada ran his thumb over the dripping head of Caractacus’s cock. “You’re all wet, _Chiflado_. Is that for me?”

“Yes.”

“You want to come?”

Caractacus swallowed. “Yes,” he said, because there was no point in lying.

Nevada gave him a few slow, tight strokes, matching the movements with his own hips. “You want to come with me inside you?”

“Yes,” Caractacus repeated. “Please.”

Nevada withdrew his hand, and Caractacus bit back his groan of frustration. Nevada stepped back, pulling out of the other man’s ass, and slapped his hip. “Turn over,” he said in a rough voice. “I want to see your face when you come.”

Caractacus put a knee on the bed and flopped over onto his back with a wince. Before he could shift himself, Nevada grabbed his legs and shoved them forward, levering Caractacus’s hips up. Pressing his shoulders against the backs of Caractacus’s thighs, Nevada lined himself up and, holding the other man’s stare, thrust into him quickly.

Caractacus held onto the bedspread, watching Nevada’s face as Nevada set a harder, faster rhythm. Every thrust was now a direct hit to Caractacus’s prostate, and he was leaking across his lower stomach. He wasn’t sure how much he would be able to take. He could see Nevada’s expression tightening, could hear the now-familiar change in his breathing, and knew that he was close.

“Get yourself off,” Nevada said, slamming into him with a particularly hard drive that drew another muffled cry from Caractacus’s lips. “I want to see you.”

Caractacus wrapped a hand around himself. His eyes rolled closed, but Nevada smacked his thigh, and he forced his eyelids apart, looking up at the other man’s face. He stroked himself in tight, twisting jerks. His hips bucked, but Nevada had him pinned to the bed.

“Come,” Nevada ordered, moving faster still, hitting Caractacus’s over-sensitized bundle of nerves relentlessly, and Caractacus felt his whole body beginning to tremble. His eyes slipped closed but he immediately forced them open before Nevada could chastise him again. “Come, _Chiflado_.”

Caractacus tightened his fist, shuddering as his semen splattered across his stomach and chest in thick strands. “Nevada,” he breathed, shivering.

“ _Dilo otra vez_.”

“Nevada,” Caractacus repeated, and the other man gave one hard thrust before pulsing inside of him, spilling himself inside of Caractacus. Nevada moved his hips slowly, sliding in and out, working himself through his orgasm, and Caractacus watched his face, relishing every twist of his expression.

Finally, Nevada withdrew slowly, carefully, leaving Caractacus with a hollow ache and a lingering burn.

Caractacus held up a hand. He thought Nevada might resist, but the other man leaned forward and met Caractacus’s eager kiss, quickly staking a claim in his mouth. Both men were having trouble catching their breath, and Nevada pushed at Caractacus’s legs, levering them apart and down until they were hanging over the edge of the bed.

Caractacus groaned; the pain wasn’t unbearable, but he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Nevada broke away from his mouth and lifted his head to search Caractacus’s face.

“I’m fine,” Caractacus said, even though the other man hadn’t asked. He could see the concern in Nevada’s eyes, and Caractacus was afraid he was going to withdraw, retreat behind the mask that he’d finally let slip.

“You can stay a little while,” Nevada said. His voice went up just a notch at the end, making it almost a question. Then he pushed himself up and said, “Go get cleaned up before you make a mess on my bed.”

 

*       *       *

 

Nevada woke with a start, automatically reaching for his gun before realizing that the screams were fading away. In their place was left…the soft sound of singing in the bathroom. Nevada blinked the fog of sleep from his eyes, willing his heartrate to return to normal. His brow was dappled with sweat, and he ran a shaky hand over his face.

He’d fallen asleep with Caractacus beside him in bed. He wasn’t sure how he’d let that happen—or why the sound of Caractacus, quietly singing and humming in the other room, soothed him now and eased his frayed nerves. Nevada was naked in his bed, but Caractacus’s presence made him feel safe. It was ridiculous. It was dangerous. Caractacus was going to get himself killed.

 _I’m going to get him killed_ , Nevada thought with a twist in his gut. _If anyone knows I care—_

He shoved that thought away, stomping it down into the shadows. “Do you ever shut up?” he called, and Caractacus’s singing was interrupted by a laugh. A moment later, the man appeared in the bathroom doorway. He was wearing his stupid pants, but his pale chest was bare. Nevada looked him over, caught off guard by his flush of desire at the memory of the other man squirming beneath him.

 _I wish things were different_ , Nevada thought with a stab of longing that stole his breath. _I wish I was different_.

“I used your razor,” Caractacus said, gesturing toward his jaw. “I didn’t want to wake you but I’m going to have to leave soon. I have to work.”

“I could pay you to stay here,” Nevada said before his brain could wrangle his tongue into submission. And then it hit him: “I guess I already did,” he said, forcing the emotion out of his voice. He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, but Caractacus had gotten under his skin.

Caractacus smiled and walked toward him. Nevada tracked his movement without breathing. “I volunteered to be your…what was it? _Mamón_?”

“ _Mamón_ ,” Nevada agreed quietly, watching Caractacus lean down over him.

“But you can’t pay someone to care about your feelings, only to pretend.” He tipped his head, watching the emotions play over Nevada’s face. “Do you think I’m pretending?” he asked softly.

Nevada licked his lip and gave his head a little shake on the pillow. Caractacus smiled again and dipped his head, brushing his lips over Nevada’s. “Did you have a bad dream?” he asked against Nevada’s mouth. “Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

Nevada laughed, turning his face away. “No,” he said. _Yes_ , he thought.

“Hmm. Maybe some other time, then.” Caractacus straightened and sighed. “I have to go.”

“Then go, _mamón_ ,” Nevada answered, scratching at the hair on his chest. He yawned. “I have things to do, anyway.”

“I prefer knob gobbler,” Caractacus said, and Nevada answered with a surprised bark of laughter. Caractacus grinned. “Actually, I prefer _Chiflado_.”

Nevada smirked. “You know it’s an insult?”

“Maybe it was,” Caractacus allowed. “In the beginning. Can I come back tonight?”

Nevada grimaced. “I don’t know what’s going to happen today,” he admitted. Caractacus waited, holding his gaze. “If I’m here, yes,” Nevada finally said, barely above a whisper, and he saw Caractacus wince at the implication that he might not make it through the day. “But you should stay away, _knob gobbler_.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Caractacus said with a smile. He fetched his shirt and pulled it over his head, fastening the top couple of buttons while Nevada watched. “I know it’s a stupid thing to say, but be careful, Nevada. Take care of yourself?” He bent and pulled on his shoes. Then he leaned over the bed and gave Nevada another quick kiss.

“Take the gun,” Nevada said. “ _Por favor_ ,” he added.

“I’m sorry,” Caractacus answered with a shake of his head. “I can’t.

“Idiot,” Nevada muttered.

“I’ll see you later.”

Nevada watched him walk out of the bedroom. A dozen words danced across his tongue, and he swallowed them all.

 

*       *       *

 

“Leave us,” Carlos said with a flick of his chin.

“This is my—” Mr. Torrence started, but he broke off at the look in Carlos’s eyes. He glanced at Caractacus.

“We can go in the back,” Caractacus said, staring down Hector with more bravado than he was feeling.

“Fine, go,” Carlos agreed, waving a hand, giving Torrence one last glare before leaving the man alone in the store. Hector, Carlos, and a man whose name Caractacus still didn’t know, followed Caractacus into the back storeroom and closed the door. Caractacus turned to face them with his heart slamming in his chest.

“I think we should kill you,” Hector said without preamble. “Teach you _and_ Vada a lesson.”

“Shut up,” the unknown man said. He held a hand toward Caractacus. “We haven’t met. I’m Eddie. I hear you’re called Crackpot but I’m guessing you probably don’t like that much.”

“I don’t care,” Caractacus said through numb lips. He didn’t shake the man’s hand, and Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, giving Caractacus a humorless smile.

“We got a deal for you,” Eddie said. “Carlos here says he thinks you’re pretty smart.”

“I’m not interested in a deal,” Caractacus said. “Whatever you’re involved in has nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, but it does, _amigo_ ,” Eddie countered. “You’re going to help us.”

“No,” Caractacus said. “Sorry.”

“There’s that word again,” Hector said, stepping up to Caractacus. “You keep saying _no_ when you got no choice, _chico_.”

“Seems like I had a choice,” Caractacus said, holding his stare. He knew it was stupid to antagonize the shorter man, but he wasn’t going to cower in the corner.

“Back off,” Carlos told Hector. To Caractacus: “You wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time, friend. You wanna get your kids and get outta here, yeah? We got a solution to your problem. See, Vada don’t trust us anymore. He ain’t lettin’ on but he ain’t turnin’ his back, you see what I mean?”

 _Yeah_ , Caractacus thought, thinking of the way Nevada had positioned himself so that everyone was in his line of sight, and the way his hand had never strayed too far from the gun in his waistband. _I know what you mean_.

“We told Marcus it was a mistake to go after Angelo so soon, but Marcus, he don’t listen, he’s _impulsivo_ like his—”

“You stayed the night, _Señor_ Potts,” Eddie cut in. “We know you left this morning. Now, Nevada, he gonna see Marcus coming a mile away, get me? And us, we show up again, he gonna put a bullet in at least one of us. He ain’t stupid enough to go walking down the street now. He’s tryin’ to play us off, act like he don’t know we’re workin’ with Marcus—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Caractacus cut in. “I don’t know who Marcus is, or what any of this has to do—”

“We’ll give you enough money to get out of here, take your kids and go. And you got my word no one will touch you or them _niños_. You can disappear, _amigo_ , and never look back here. You might think Nevada cares about you, but he don’t care about nobody but himself. Trust me, we know better than you. Vada always chooses Vada in the end and he’ll throw you to _los lobos_.”

“I think you _are_ the wolves,” Caractacus said.

“Look who understands _Español_ ,” Hector said.

“It’s a common expression,” Caractacus answered.

“You ain’t gonna get a better deal,” Eddie continued, and Caractacus could hear Nevada’s voice whispering in his head, telling him that they would offer him a deal and he should take it. “You get cash in your hand and a free ticket out. You don’t want to know the alternative.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” Caractacus asked.

“You go to his house. You do whatever you do there, that ain’t none of my business. You wait until he’s asleep, you make sure the door’s unlocked. You send me a text. That’s it, _amigo_ , easy, right? You don’t get no blood on your hands.”

“We don’t think you got the balls to do it,” Hector interjected.

“We take care of everything. And you go find your kids a nice place to live, someplace you don’t gotta sell yourself for rent, yeah?”

“How do you know you could trust me?” Caractacus asked. “I could lead you into an ambush.”

“You got kids to think about,” Eddie said with a smile. “You ain’t an idiot, right? You don’t want to put your kids at risk for someone like Nevada Ramirez. You think hard, Crackpot. Think real hard. Who’s gonna look out for you if you don’t look out for yourself, huh? Give me your phone.”

Caractacus pulled out his ancient cell phone and let Eddie take it from his fingers. Eddie curled his lip at the dinged old phone, but he quickly added his number into the contacts and slapped the phone back into Caractacus’s hand. “You text me OK, Crackpot, when you’re sure he’s asleep. And then you go in the bathroom and you wait. We don’t want you getting hurt on accident, do we?”

“What’s to stop you from killing me, too?”

“We give you our word, and that’s the best you’re gonna get. You do us right, we do you right. You betray us…Well, you get the idea, yeah?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Caractacus said. “And what if he kills all of you, instead?”

“Nevada ain’t got no _aliados_ left in this place, _amigo_ ,” Eddie said. “You wanna bet your odds on him against all of us, you’re a bigger fool than you look. You better get back to work, you gotta pick up your kids soon. Why don’t you use that _loco_ car you got hidden in the storage place, man?” He smiled. “Yeah, we know a lot, you remember that. I look forward to your text.”

“Me, I hope you don’t,” Hector said, curling his lip at Caractacus. “’Cause if you choose wrong, I get my hands on you, you gonna be sayin’ _no_ a whole lot and ain’t nobody gonna be listening.”

Caractacus didn’t answer. He watched the three of them stroll out of the storeroom. He looked down at the phone in his hand and closed his eyes, trying to tamp down the panic swelling within him. _Get the children and go_ , he thought. _Now, do it now. We can drive as far as we can drive and figure out what to do then_. And Nevada? _Nevada can take care of himself,_ he thought. _Or I can send him a text after we’re out of town_. He didn’t have Nevada’s number, and it didn’t matter anyway. Caractacus didn’t think he’d make it out of town. Surely they would be watching. If he made a move with the kids, Nevada’s men—no, _Marcus’s_ men, now—would be all over them.

Caractacus drew a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the churning in his stomach.

 

*       *       *

 

Caractacus was caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, neither quite winning over the other. The pleasure of every strike against his prostate was keeping the pain from becoming unbearable, but the pain was keeping his body from succumbing to the pleasure. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the good sensations: the warm grip of Nevada’s fingers at his hips, the labored sounds of Nevada’s breath as he took pleasure from Caractacus’s body, the steady rhythm that sent jolt after jolt through that little bundle of nerves.

Caractacus was bent over the couch, his head pressed against the cushions. His back was already aching from the angle. His knees were bent, his legs trembling. His pants were around his ankles, pooled on his shoes. His shirt was shoved halfway up his back.

Nevada had been upset when Caractacus arrived, antsy and agitated. The lines on his face were deeper than usual, his hair uncharacteristically unkempt. He’d had a half-finished drink in his hand but it was clearly not his first. Caractacus could smell the liquor on him, could see the shine in his eyes.

He didn’t mention the meeting with the men he’d had that morning. He didn’t mention Marcus or Angelo or the fact that he could plainly feel his world crumbling around him. He’d started kissing Caractacus without giving him a chance to say anything. The pressure of his lips was bruising, desperate, and his hands were rough as they traveled over Caractacus’s body. He rubbed at Caractacus’s crotch, and Caractacus was helpless to keep his body from responding.

 _This is the last time_ , he thought. _No matter what happens, it ends tonight_. The thought shouldn’t bring such a stab of pain, but Caractacus had felt the burn behind his eyes and fought it back so Nevada wouldn’t see. Nevada needed release, he needed to feel something good, and Caractacus wanted to give that to him. He wanted to feel Nevada, one last time. He didn’t resist when Nevada shoved his pants down or pushed him toward the sofa. He stumbled and barely caught himself, but he didn’t say anything to stop the other man.

Caractacus knew he could stop Nevada if he tried. Even now, he could stop him. But he didn’t. He focused all of his energy on the pleasure, trying to ignore the pain.

One hard thrust brought a whimper to his throat, and it had slipped past his lips before he could choke it back. He dropped his head forward, eyes scrunched closed against the feeling, lips pressed tightly together to prevent any further sounds.

Nevada froze. He was buried inside of Caractacus, suddenly still. His fingers were digging into Caractacus’s hips. “Are you okay?” he asked in a low, rough voice. He sounded stunned, as though he were coming out of a trance.

“I’m fine,” Caractacus said, glad that Nevada couldn’t see the moisture clinging to his lashes. “Go ahead and finish.”

Nevada didn’t move for several seconds. Caractacus couldn’t even hear or feel him breathing. Then he suddenly pushed Caractacus forward into the sofa and stepped back, withdrawing so quickly that he forced another involuntary sound from Caractacus’s throat. Caractacus fell onto the cushions and pushed himself up with shaky arms, looking back over his shoulder.

Nevada was staring at him, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists, hair flopped onto his sweaty forehead. Caractacus managed to straighten even though his legs felt rubbery, and he turned toward the other man, reaching out a hand. Nevada took a quick step backward, almost tripping over his jeans, as something like alarm flitted across his dark features.

“Nevada, I’m sorry,” Caractacus said, holding his hand palm-up in front of himself.

“You’re sorry?” Nevada touched the tip of his tongue to his bottom lip for a moment, and then his expression abruptly hardened. “Get your shit and get out,” he said. He bent and yanked his pants up, stuffing his erection inside. He tugged the zipper up with an angry jerk but left the button unfastened. He pushed his hair off his forehead and glared at Caractacus.

“What’s—”

“We’re done. This isn’t working.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This. _You_ are not working. I need someone who’s not so soft and whiny.”

Caractacus blinked. “You stopped this, not me,” he said. “I never asked you to worry about my feelings.”

“I’m not worried. I don’t care about your _feelings_ , so take them and get out.”

Caractacus stooped and slowly pulled up his pants, not quite able to hide his wince. He felt dazed, his brain still trying to catch up to the abrupt change. He fastened his trousers over his own erection carefully. “It’s okay to care about people,” he said quietly.

“Fuck you,” Nevada spat in return. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

Caractacus took a step toward Nevada, and Nevada stepped back. Caractacus moved forward quickly, driving Nevada back against the wall.

“The hell—get the fuck off—” Nevada said, trying to throw off the other man’s hold, but Caractacus pushed him against the wall and braced an arm against Nevada’s chest. Nevada bucked against him and Caractacus shoved him back with a muffled thud.

“We are more than the sum of our worst moments.”

“You don’t know my worst moments,” Nevada said, curling his lip into a snarl. “Get _off me_.” He shoved at Caractacus, but the inventor wasn’t going to be easily dislodged.

“Hit me if you want. I don’t care. I’m not letting go until you talk to me.”

“ _No quiero hablar contigo_.”

“If you want to hurt me, do it.”

“I don’t want—Caractacus,” Nevada said. It was the first time he’d said the other man’s given name, and it cracked in the middle.

“I’m right here. I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“Talk to me.”

“I will des _troy you_ ,” Nevada said, but Caractacus knew it wasn’t a threat. It was Nevada’s fear, given a voice. “I destroy everything. Everyone.”

“You can start over.”

“No. It’s over, _Chiflado_.”

Caractacus shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He drew a breath and released it through pursed lips, opening his eyes to meet Nevada’s stare. “They’re coming to kill you tonight,” he said.

Nevada blinked. “What?”

“They offered me a deal, like you said they would. Money and guaranteed safety to get out of town if I—”

Nevada shoved at his chest, catching him off guard, and Caractacus took a step back, releasing him. “You’re a fucking moron.”

“Yes,” Caractacus agreed. “I told you I was too sentimental for my own good. I’m supposed to leave the door unlocked and text them when you’re asleep.”

“Were you going to do it?”

Caractacus considered the question and shook his head, slowly.

“You should’ve,” Nevada said. “I told you to take what they offered you.” He scrubbed a shaky hand over his face. “You need to leave, now.”

“Nevada.”

“Go get your kids and leave. Anyplace is better than staying here, Caractacus.”

“Come with us.”

“What?” Nevada looked as though he’d been slapped. “You lost your fucking mind.”

“No. Come with us.”

“I made my men throw a kid off an overpass,” Nevada said. The words seemed to tear themselves from his throat. “I did that. You cannot _possibly_ want me around your kids.”

“Nevada, I can see your pain. I don’t know what life was like growing up here, but I know you had to struggle to survive. You watched all your friends and family die, and you got hard, because soft people could never make it around here. Maybe when you looked at him, you didn’t see a little boy. Maybe you thought about how fast you had to grow up—”

“ _Do not make excuses for me_ ,” Nevada said, unable to hide the anguish in his voice. “I made him piss his pants. Yeah,” he said, nodding. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “I scared him so bad he pissed himself, pissed all over my shoe. But that wasn’t enough, was it?”

“I’m not making excuses,” Caractacus said. “But you can’t live life like this, Nevada. You have to forgive yourself or there’s no point in going on.”

“Forgive myself?” Nevada shook his head. “How can you…how can you see any good in me?” he asked.

Caractacus smiled. “I’m an idiot, remember? Come with me. We’ll leave tonight. If we can get to my car, they’ll never be able to catch us.”

“They have cars, too, _Chiflado_.”

“Not like mine,” Caractacus said. “It’s a long story, but come with me and you’ll see.”

“I wish I could,” Nevada whispered, searching his face. “I wish I could change things.”

Caractacus reached for him, but Nevada shook his head and moved away. “No. You need to leave. Now. Before it’s too late. Text them and tell them I kicked you out. Either they’ll want to try again tomorrow, or they’ll come after me tonight anyway. But it’ll give you time before they know you tipped me off.”

“I don’t want to leave you here to die.”

“They will kill your kids, Caractacus.” He reached out suddenly and grabbed Caractacus’s shirt, pulling him forward. He kissed him, hard. Caractacus could still taste the lingering liquor, but Nevada was sober now.

Caractacus wrapped his arms around Nevada instinctively, holding him, and Nevada turned his face away, dropping his forehead against the other man’s shoulder. His arms went around Caractacus’s waist, and Caractacus couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, Nevada had last been hugged.

“Please leave,” Nevada said. “Text them when you get outside. Promise me.”

“I will,” Caractacus said, because he had no choice. He had to get his kids out of harm’s way.

Nevada pulled back, dropping his arms, and Caractacus let him go. Nevada dug his wallet from his back pocket and withdrew several bills, holding them out. “Take it, gas money to get out of here,” he said, and Caractacus took the money without comment, stuffing it into his front pocket. “If I met you before…I would’ve tried to be better, _Chiflado_. I would’ve tried to be better, for you. Maybe if there’s another life, you think?” Nevada smiled sadly, reaching up to swipe a tear from Caractacus’s cheek. “Go, now.”

“Think about the good, Nevada,” Caractacus said. “If you have one moment left, one breath left, hear my voice and think of the good.”

Nevada caught his lip with his teeth to keep his face from crumpling, and nodded. He pushed at Caractacus’s chest, forcing him back a step, and Caractacus turned away with a shaky breath.

 

*       *       *

 

_Mrs. Alva, sitting in a chair with a gun to her head._

_Her grandsons, tied to chairs._

_Jeremy and Jemima, their hands and mouths duct-taped, their eyes wide with fear._

_Hector’s voice: “I knew you’d be stupid.” His fist slamming into Caractacus’s eye, knocking him to the floor in a tangle of limbs._

The sounds and images were burned into Caractacus’s brain. He and his children were on the cold, hard floor of an abandoned factory several blocks from their apartment building. Hector, Carlos, and Eddie were dead on the concrete, their cooling blood pooling around them.

Luckily, the twins had been blindfolded before arriving at the building, and they hadn’t seen Marcus put bullets into the other three men. Their screams at the sounds of the gunshots had been muffled by the tape over their mouths, and all Caractacus could do was tell them they would be alright, to murmur words of comfort that tasted like dust on his tongue. His hands and feet were bound with duct tape.

Marcus was younger than Caractacus had expected. He had dark hair and bright green eyes that were constantly scanning. If he was out of his teens, it wasn’t by much. His hand was shaking, and had been since firing the three shots, but he hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t given them a chance to draw their own weapons. Three bullets in quick succession: _Eddie, Carlos, Hector_. Every shot was perfect.

He might be young, but he wasn’t a child, not anymore. He glanced at his watch.

“He won’t come,” Caractacus said. He had no idea if it was true, but he had to break the silence. “Please, let my children go. They have nothing to do with this.”

“He’ll come. You don’t know Vada. He doesn’t like to lose,” Marcus said, pacing like a caged animal.

“If he does, then what?” Caractacus asked. “You kill him? He kills you? When does it end?”

“It ends tonight,” Marcus said, and Caractacus thought of Nevada: _this story ends with me and him_. “You should’ve stayed away from him. You didn’t have to be involved in this.”

Caractacus looked at his children, huddled together, and he couldn’t breathe. Marcus was right. They were here because of him. Before he could think of anything to say, Nevada’s voice rang out from somewhere out of sight.

“I’m here, Marcus,” he called. “You text, I come, just like before. Just like always, even the night you tried to kill me.”

“Angelo should’ve let you die in that fire, _Tio_ ,” Marcus said, looking around for a glimpse of Nevada, his gun tracing an invisible line through the air.

“You did a good job, Marcus. You planned everything, didn’t you? And now here we are. What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“You want to kill me? You hate me for what I did?”

“Yes.”

“Everything I did was for _mi familia_ , for you and—”

“You ruined our family! I have nothing! No one!”

“You could’ve come to me.”

“They killed my mother because of what you did to Robbie!”

“I did what I had to do to avenge—”

“Avenge? The fuck you mean _avenge_? _Jonny wasn’t murdered_.”

“Your mother still had to bury her son. My sister had to bury her son. _My nephew_.”

“You think she wanted you to hurt that kid for Jonny? She asked you not to do anything, but you had to go all hot-headed. It was an _ac_ cident. Jonny _knew_ Robbie. _I knew him_!” Marcus gestured toward Jeremy and Jemima with the gun. “They were just kids.”

“I know,” Nevada said, and Caractacus could hear the raw pain in his voice. “I know, _hijo_.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your son.”

“No, _eres_ _mi sobrino_ , but you’re the closest I ever had, Marcus. It’s not too late.”

“It’s way too late, _Tío_ ,” Marcus answered.

“No it’s not. Not for you. Walk away. Walk away, Marcus. Don’t make me kill you, _mijo_.”

“ _Don’t call me that_! You kill me? _You_? Kill me, then. Do it, _Tío_. Finish what you started.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to hurt _you_ ,” Marcus said. He gestured again toward Caractacus’s kids even though there was no guarantee that Nevada could see him. “You care about them?”

“No. They’re nobody, Marcus.”

“You might fool everyone else, Vada, but not me,” Marcus said in a low voice. He swiped at his nose with his arm. “I remember. I know you got a heart in there somewhere. And we been watching you, you know that. So yeah, you care. But how much, though? You loved _Mami_ and Jonny but you still did what you wanted. You always choose you, huh, _Tío_? So what now? You can walk out of here. Save yourself. I’ll kill them. Not all three, just the kids. Make him suffer, because he chose you. Even knowing what you did, he chose you.”

“He’s got nothing to do with any of this, Marcus, and neither do the kids. They’re innocent. Like you were, like Jonny was. Like your mother was—”

“The kids always pay, don’t they, Vada?”

“Not them. They’re not like us.”

“I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” Nevada said. “You can stop now. He’s nothing, no one. He didn’t choose my side, he did what he did to provide for his kids. He didn’t know better. He doesn’t understand people like us.”

“Stop saying—”

“Then prove it. Prove you’re better than me.”

“You leave, I’ll kill the kids. If you come out, I’ll kill you and I’ll let them go. I’ll let them all go. But we both know that won’t happen, don’t we? You sacrifice yourself for someone else?” Marcus made a scoffing sound and shook his head. “Or you can kill me. Kill the last blood you got, _Tío_. Your men are dead—the ones that didn’t go to ground—and they deserved it. They threw Robbie in front of that train. And they tried to kill you, so maybe you don’t care so much. But you got more blood on your hands here, Vada. Mine or theirs.”

“You think you can look at them and pull the trigger? Two little kids? You don’t know what it’s like, _mijo_. You don’t know what it does inside you. You think killing these _men_ was hard?”

“No.”

“ _Mierda_ , Marcus, I know you. I was like you, once.”

“No,” Marcus repeated. “Stop stalling. Kill me or I kill them.”

Nevada was silent for what felt like a long time to Caractacus, and he couldn’t help his fear that Nevada was gone. Marcus was clearly wondering the same thing, and he shifted, glancing toward the kids. He didn’t want to kill them—he was barely more than a kid, himself. But Caractacus couldn’t count on that to save them.

Nevada stepped into sight with his hands held up, gun pointed toward the ceiling. Caractacus’s stomach lurched painfully. He needed his kids to be safe, but he also didn’t want to watch Nevada die.

Marcus was momentarily stunned by Nevada’s appearance, and he took a step backward, looking around. He pointed his weapon at Nevada belatedly. “P-put your gun down,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Let them go, first,” Nevada said, even though his gun wasn’t pointed at Marcus. “You gave your word, Marcus. _La palabra de un hombre es su vínculo._ ”

“You’re…willing to die? For _them_?” Marcus asked, his voice cracking in the middle of the last word.

“No, _mijo_ , for you. You kill me if it’ll make you feel better, but I can’t let you kill them. You can’t ever come back from that. Let them go and we’ll end this, you and me.”

Marcus leveled his gun at Nevada’s face, in spite of the tremor in his hand. “Or I just shoot you now.”

“ _Marcus_ ,” Nevada said sharply, and his nephew winced at the tone. “Be your mother’s son.”

Marcus’s face started to crumple, but he composed himself with effort; only a few tears leaked down his cheeks. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, sure. You put your gun down and undo them and they can go.”

Nevada looked at Caractacus, and their eyes met. Nevada’s face tightened, and he released a breath. He bent slowly and placed his gun onto the floor. “You win, Marcus,” he said. “There. Now I’m going to let them go, _sí_?”

“Sure,” Marcus answered. He was close to unraveling completely. Caractacus could feel the panic and confusion emanating from the younger man, could sense the agitation in his every move.

Nevada crossed to Caractacus slowly. He drew out a pocketknife and sank into a crouch. Marcus kept his gun pointed at his uncle while Nevada cut through Caractacus’s restraints and pulled the tape from his mouth with a quick flick of his wrist. Caractacus winced at the pain.

“Get them out of here,” Nevada said. “Don’t look back.”

“Nevada—”

“Don’t be stupid, _Señor_ Potts,” Nevada said, holding his gaze. Caractacus could see everything—his guilt, his pain, his fear; there was no point in keeping the mask up, now. Caractacus wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t. Nevada leaned past him and cut through the tape around Jemima’s wrists, and then Jeremy’s. “Keep your blindfolds on, _niños_ ,” he said quietly. “And cover your ears. Your father will lead you out of here and everything will be fine. Come, up.” He rose slowly, helping the blindfolded children to their feet.

Caractacus reached out and put a hand on Nevada’s arm, unable to resist. Nevada covered Caractacus’s hand with his own, meeting his eyes again for only a moment. He lifted his other hand, touching a gentle thumb to the bruise darkening beneath Caractacus’s eye, his face twisting. Then he drew a breath and stepped way.

“Go,” he said, and Caractacus put his arms around the kids, biting back all the things he wanted to say.

The twins had their hands obediently over their ears, and Caractacus led them toward the exit, casting a quick look at Marcus. Nevada’s nephew wasn’t looking at him; Marcus and Nevada were staring at each other, neither moving, and Caractacus hurried his children out into the night. He pulled the handkerchiefs from their eyes so they could run.

They were several blocks away before they heard the gunshot.

 

*       *       *

 

“Hurry, children, get as much of your things as you can, whatever’s most important,” Caractacus said, ushering the twins into the apartment. He was keeping his panic and pain at bay, but barely. He wanted desperately to go back to look for Nevada, but nothing was more important than keeping his kids safe.

“Where are we going?” Jeremy asked. “We don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Tonight we’re going as far as Chitty will take us, and tomorrow we’ll—”

“There’s a cat, Daddy,” Jemima said, stopping in the middle of the room.

Caractacus turned, and his stomach clenched at the sight of _Reina_ sitting in the doorway of his bedroom. He felt the sting of tears and blinked to clear his eyes. _No, Nevada_ , he thought.

“Where’d he come from? Is he ours?” Jeremy asked.

“Her name is _Reina_ ,” Caractacus said through numb lips.

“That means Queen, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” Jemima answered her brother, but her eyes were on her father. “There’s cat food, too,” she said, pointing a finger toward the table. “And a note. And a clock?”

Yes. The broken clock that Nevada hadn’t allowed Caractacus to fix. For a few seconds, Caractacus couldn’t make his legs work, and he stood rooted to the floor. Jeremy crossed to the table and retrieved the manila envelope.

“It says… _Chee—flah—doe_ ,” he said, sounding out the Spanish. Jeremy was brilliant in a lot of subjects, but learning a new language had come far easier to his sister. “What’s that?”

“It’s an insult,” Jemima said.

“It’s not,” Caractacus countered gently, finally managing to cross the short distance to his son. “It’s just a nickname.”

“It means Crackpot,” she said. “People don’t mean to be nice when they call you that.”

Caractacus took the packet from Jeremy and held his other hand toward his daughter. She moved to his side, and he stroked her hair, bending to kiss her forehead. “Sometimes people are mean,” he agreed. “But I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me, poppet, only you two.” He drew his hand back and opened the envelope. His fingers trembled as he pulled out several sheets of paper, and his children both pressed close against his sides, wrapping their arms around his back.

Caractacus shuffled Nevada’s note to the back so they couldn’t see it, and held the other form down for them to read.

“What’s that?” Jemima asked.

This time, Jeremy was ahead of her. “Is that ours?” he asked, looking up at his father with wide eyes.

Caractacus glanced into the envelope at what he hadn’t pulled out. He drew an unsteady breath through his nose and released it slowly. “We need to leave, my loves. Go get your things, quickly.”

“What about the cat?” Jemima asked.

“She’s coming with us,” Caractacus answered.

 

*       *       *

 

 _Drug money_. _Drugs at BEST_. _This was bought with blood_.

“Daddy, there are _four bedrooms_!” Jemima called excitedly from somewhere in the house. “ _Reina_ could have her own room!”

Caractacus smiled in spite of his inner turmoil.

The house wasn’t huge; the rooms were small, but nice, and the neighborhood was quiet. There was a school three blocks away, with a playground that had actual nets in the basketball hoops. The garage was large enough for Chitty, and there was a small front lawn and a fenced-in backyard.

Nevada hadn’t bought the house for Caractacus; the original deed had been registered nearly five years earlier. The house had been empty for that long, and everything was coated in dust. Most of the appliances would probably need maintenance, but that was nothing that Caractacus couldn’t handle. The house would need to be furnished, as well, but Nevada had left plenty of cash in the envelope to cover that and a lot of other expenses.

 _Blood money_.

 _Maybe_ , Caractacus thought, _but now it can do some real good._

“Daddy,” Jeremy said. Both kids were walking toward him, and Caractacus looked at their faces, overwhelmed with love for them. “Are we staying here?”

“Yes,” Caractacus said. “Yes, I think we are. There are things to take care of, first, though. For now, you can choose which rooms you want and put your stuff inside. Put your sleeping bags out.

Nevada had paid to have the electricity turned on, which must’ve been done sometime in the last couple of days. _He was worrying about his life and he still—_ Caractacus shook his head to clear it.

“Is this from Mr. Ramirez?” Jemima asked.

“Yes,” Caractacus said.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he answered.

“I hope not,” she said. “Come on, Remy,” she added, putting her arm over her twin’s shoulders.

Caractacus watched them for a few moments before going to the kitchen counter. He dumped out the contents of the manila envelope, except for the house key that he’d already pocketed. He hadn’t counted the money, but it was a lot. Maybe ten thousand. He pushed it aside, along with the deed that Nevada had signed over to him.

He looked down at the letter, scrawled in dark ink.

 _Caractacus_ , it started, and he smiled sadly at the sight. Nevada had learned to spell his name. Such a small thing shouldn’t mean a lot, and yet it did. There were so many small details that Nevada had taken care of, and Caractacus hadn’t suspected.

_Caractacus_

_You said you saved my life so I could have a second chance, but I think it was a second chance for you. I had dreams, once, when my sister was alive, my nephews were young. But dreams die here, just like everything else. You start to forget there might be places where there’s any good left._

_You’re proof there is. Take this and start over. Give your kids a chance. I signed everything but if you’re reading this, I think you know why I left a will. I don’t know how legal it is, but I’m sure you’ll figure it all out. Dama Jemima says you’re smart. And if not, take the money and go somewhere else. Go back home, if you want._

_Wherever you go, please take Reina. I have no one else to ask. She’s the only one who saw any good in me for a very long time, until you. You two idiots deserve each other._

_Goodbye, Chiflado._

_N_

 

*       *       *

 

“If you came to see the cat, she’s alright.”

Nevada closed his eyes for a moment. He dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and smashed it beneath his boot. He took off his sunglasses and hooked them over his collar before turning to face the girl.

“She sleeps in my bed,” Jemima said.

“You got better at sneaking up on people, _Dama_ ,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said, surprising him. “Even if you are still smoking,” she added with a wrinkled nose.

“It’s a nasty habit, _chica_ , you’re right. I’ve been meaning to quit.”

“Why are you lurking over here watching the house?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Liar.”

“I said you were smart.”

“Did you come to see Daddy?”

“Nah.”

“He’ll be happy you’re alive.”

“I don’t think so,” Nevada said. “How about we keep it a secret, you and me.”

“I don’t lie.”

“No? You get that from _su padre_. Anyway, keeping a secret isn’t lying.” She gave him a look that made him smile, and he glanced across the street toward the house that he’d bought five years earlier, when he’d thought there still might be a chance for a different life. Caractacus and the kids deserved it. “I just wanted to see if the house was okay, make sure you were settling in. I won’t be back again.”

“I’ll tell Daddy you were here and he’ll be sad you didn’t at least say hello.”

Nevada winced. “Damn, _chica_ , you don’t pull punches.” He saw movement across the street and looked over to see Caractacus on the porch. Caractacus saw him at the same time, and even from a distance Nevada could see the emotions play across his face: surprise, confusion, relief, and finally happiness. Nevada swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t deserve that look, and it was almost more than he could bear.

“Too late,” Jemima said, sounding entirely too delighted about Nevada being caught. Caractacus was walking toward them, his eyes on Nevada, and Nevada glanced up and down the street, afraid the idiot would get himself run over. There were luckily no cars coming as Caractacus crossed the stretch of pavement.

“Nevada,” Caractacus said, stopping beside Jemima, searching the other man’s face. The bruise beneath Caractacus’s eye was gone; it had been two weeks since that night, the last time they’d seen each other.

“ _Chiflado_ ,” Nevada returned, his lips quirking. No matter what might happen, it was good to see Caractacus again, good to know that he and the kids had a safe place to stay, that they were happy and healthy.

“Mimi, poppet, go back in the house, please,” Caractacus said, nudging her shoulder. “I need to speak with Mr. Ramirez.”

She looked up at Nevada. “ _Hasta luego_ , Mr. Ramirez,” she told him with a smile that he couldn’t help but return.

“You can call me Nevada, Jemima,” he said. “Or Vada.”

Her smile widened. “You can call me Mimi,” she answered. “Or _Dama_ ,” she added, turning away with a flip of her hair that made Nevada laugh. He watched her cross the street. He could feel Caractacus staring at him, but he had to gather his resolve before he could meet the other man’s eyes.

“Is Marcus dead?” Caractacus asked quietly.

Nevada looked at him. “Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

Nevada shook his head, unable to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. “He shot himself,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Caractacus said, putting a hand on Nevada’s arm. “I know you loved him.”

“I took everything from him, left him with no family, nothing to live for.”

“You didn’t kill your sister, or your nephew,” Caractacus said. “Either nephew.”

“I got them killed. I destroyed everything.”

“Not everything,” Caractacus said. “You’re alive. You’re here. You still have a chance to do good in the world.”

“Everyone I ever cared about is dead or gone. My friends. My family. Everyone is gone. Everyone except you. I…didn’t know where else to go. I needed to see you, to see…someone. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

“You should have,” Caractacus countered softly, holding the other man’s arm. “Where have you been?”

“Staying with _Señora_ Alva,” he said. “She used to babysit me and my sister when we were little.” He looked away, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. She’s tougher than she looks. The boys are fine, too.”

“And you? Are you alright?”

Nevada shook his head. “I should’ve stayed away,” he murmured.

“I’m glad you came. Come inside with me.”

Nevada looked at him. His chest was burning with unshed tears, and his hands were trembling at his sides. Caractacus could surely feel the vibration thrumming through Nevada’s body.

“Stay with me and I’ll keep you safe,” Caractacus said, tightening his hold on Nevada’s arm.

Nevada made a small mewling sound, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Caractacus grabbed him, pulling him into a hug that knocked the breath from Nevada’s chest. Caractacus kissed his cheek, and Nevada clung to him, holding on like a drowning man to a life preserver.

“Come inside and we’ll figure everything out,” Caractacus promised. “The cat will be happy to see you, and I got your clock running.”

Nevada drew back to look at him, searching his face. He leaned forward and touched his lips to Caractacus’s, raising a hand to his jaw. He could feel some of his tension sliding away, some of weight that had been pushing down on him for as long as he could remember. Caractacus soothed him; he had from the start, from the first moment Nevada had looked up to see the face of the man carrying him to safety.

“I want to be the man you think I could be,” he heard himself say, and a smile curved Caractacus’s lips. Nevada let the other man take his hand and lead him toward the house.


End file.
